


Who you are

by infandomswetrust



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Blood Play, Cannibalism, Gore, Hannigram - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Hannibal, Reluctant Will, Season 2 spoilers, Slow Burn, Smut, Violence, dark!Will, i just really love dark will, let's just see how this turns out, maybe even murder boyfriends, there will be smut, what can i say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 06:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1499936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infandomswetrust/pseuds/infandomswetrust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about glass is you can never truly look through it. No matter what you see, you’re always just looking at glass in the end. If you want to reach what’s behind you have to shatter it first. </p><p>Hannibal has shattered Will, maybe even more than he realizes yet. </p><p>Takes place a few weeks after 2x08</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really love dark!will  
> Like, really. 
> 
> Not beta'd

The thing about glass is you can never truly look through it. No matter what you see, you’re always just looking at glass in the end. If you want to reach what’s behind you have to shatter it first.

*

Bleakness. Darkness. Pain.

Where was he? Will looked around. He recognized the street but how did he get here? He hadn’t sleepwalked since the arrest. He had finally felt…stable, and now this. He realized how cold he was; he was just wearing a plain shirt and his boxers after all. Had he lost time? He remembered feeding the dogs, drinking a glass of whiskey and going to bed. “No nightmares” He suddenly realized. No stag, no bodies, no Hannibal, no Abigail. He would have said he had slept peaceful, but the fact that he seemed to have walked almost 10 miles barefoot kind of ruined the impression.

“It is…late. I am on some road close to Wolf Trap. My name is Will Graham.”

-And I’m still using the phrase a cannibalistic serial killer told me to calm myself.- He added silently and pursed his lips. Why had Dr. Lecter even told him that? The phrase _actually_ helped, and wasn’t that the opposite of what Hannibal wanted to do? _Help him_? No, he wanted to destroy him, to push him until he’d break, to watch him fall; only to pick up the pieces and put him back together the way _he_ wanted him to be. Bring out his “potential”. And all that because he was curious. Because he entertained himself by playing fate, playing god. Will shook his head disgusted. How could that man have ever been his friend? How could he ever have cared for him? The empath sighed.

He still did.

He still cared about Hannibal.

He wanted to hate him, he wanted to be repelled, but the truth was the thing that upset him the most wasn’t the fact that Hannibal was a monster, it was that he had lied to him about it. Betrayed him. Used him. He had made Will feel like someone finally cared about him, someone finally understood him and accepted him, but in the end he had always been nothing more but a figure in Hannibal’s twisted chess game, just like Miriam Lass or Jack. They were all standing on his board, waiting for him to make the next move and hoping it wasn’t one that would kick them out of the game. Like Beverly. Or Abigail. Or even Gideon. As long as they had served a purpose, or at least didn’t get in the way; he had allowed them to live. Then why was Will still alive? Had he not served his purpose yet? Was he not the only one in the way of Hannibal right now?

Suddenly Will realized. He was no longer a figure. He was the opponent. The Chesapeake Ripper must have gotten tired of playing alone. He saw something in Will, something that made him worthy. An equal.

Will felt that he was important to Hannibal. Until now, he hadn’t allowed himself to believe that feeling. It didn’t make sense. He was afraid he might _want_ to believe it. He might _want_ to be important to him. He hadn’t allowed that feeling, because the thought that he had always meant more to Hannibal than just a game figure made him feel warm and happy. Maybe he was insane after all; the man was a killer.

Will was slowly wandering back in the direction of his house. He was freezing, his feet hurt and it would take him at least an hour. The young man groaned. If he only had his phone with him. He could have called someone. Or could he? A few months ago he would have called Hannibal in such a situation. The second choice would have been Alana. The third Beverly. All three were gone now, one way or another. He could have called Jack, of course, but the man was just beginning to trust him in the field again and if he thought “it” had started all over again….

In the end he would have called Hannibal; he had to admit that to himself. What had happened in the stable with Clark Ingram had proven that Hannibal was still Will’s anchor, of some sort. But he had been right. He couldn’t predict Will. He had truly wanted to shoot the man. He knew it wouldn’t have been the same as with Hobbs; he wouldn’t have been haunted. He would have felt good, without the side effects killing the Minnesota Shrike had had. Will had changed, and though he knew Hannibal realized that, he wasn’t sure if he knew _how_ much he had changed, _how_ dark his thoughts had become. Will had been in the mind of enough killers to know what it felt like to be in the mind of a killer. And he _was_ in the mind of killer. But this time it was his own.

He was Hannibal’s creation, he was perfectly aware of that, but now that he didn’t feel the need to fight himself anymore, he could at least fight Hannibal. He wouldn’t play along anymore. He was the Chesapeake Ripper’s opponent and now it was finally his turn.

His thoughts were torn back to reality when suddenly a bright light blinded him. A car. Someone had stopped just in front of him. Will watched how a man got out, about his age and not in a bad shape. He had dark hair and a sly smile.

“You’re Will Graham.” he said, ignoring the fact that said man was standing on a road barely dressed in the middle of the night.

“And you are?” Will asked irritated. He already disliked the man. To be fair, Will disliked most people, but the smug smile and the arrogant tone of the man made his flesh crawl.

“Someone who can give you a ride.” The man retorted, obviously very aware of Will’s situation.

“I don’t take favors from strangers.” Will replied wryly and just kept walking. The man let out an amused laugh and grabbed Will’s elbow to stop him when he walked past him. Will winced at the touch and withdrew his arm harshly. He stared at the man with angrily sparkling eyes, which left him obviously unimpressed.

“And you'd rather walk all the way to Wolf Trap?”

Will froze for a moment.

“How do you know where I live?” The question came out sharper than he had intended it to. The other man just smiled.

“Get in the car and I’ll tell ya. C’mon, it’s freezing out here.”

Will considered his options for a moment. He really didn’t want to walk back to Wolf Trap and though the man certainly annoyed him he didn’t feel particularly intimidated by him. He huffed and slowly walked towards the passenger door, feeling the man’s eyes on him. He got in and closed the door quickly. It was warm in the car and Will couldn’t suppress a content sigh. The other man got in too and started driving. He didn’t wait for Will to ask, he just started speaking as soon as the car was moving.

“I've read about you, Mr. Graham. Your case is really interesting.”

Will furrowed his brow.

“You know where I live. There’s a difference between reading and stalking.”

The other man chuckled.

“Maybe I got lost in the game a bit. But you can’t blame me, pretty much everyone with a TV or an internet connection is curious about you.”

Will didn’t answer. He hated the fact he was seen as some kind of sensation. It was the same feeling Jack gave him, being displayed like a fragile piece of china, as Hannibal had once put it, only way worse. He didn’t like the kind of attention the trial had drawn to him. People had started recognizing him on the streets, secretly taking pictures of him,… It was ridiculous. He felt like they saw him as a sight. –Hey kids, tomorrow we’ll visit the Walters Art Museum. And afterwards we’ll take a look at Will Graham.-

“Anyway… Why were you wandering ‘round like that? I thought that unstable-thing was over?” The man’s blunt curiosity made Will angry. He clenched his fists and stared through the windshield.

“Mind your own business.” The empath snapped. The other man just laughed.

“Quite grumpy, aren’t ya? I can imagine it’s upsetting to be mistaken for a killer. But then again, it was kind of your own fault.”

Will dug his fingernails into his palms and tried to stay calm. They were almost back in Wolf Trap.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, but if you have a weird ability like that you should keep it to yourself… Would have spared you a lot of trouble.”

“And sit back and watch how people that I could have saved die?!” Will hissed. The driver shrugged and continued talking.

“We all die sooner or later. Why give a shit about others? As long as I am fine I don’t need to care about anyone else. So your country’s at war? So your daughter's dead? Boo-hoo, what does that have to do with _me_?”

Something inside Will snapped. He hissed out a breath, and with that breath a lot more seemed to escape his body. Before he had time to think about it, he had wrapped one hand around the man’s neck, squeezing just enough to make him gag a little bit. The sound gave Will a shiver.

“Pull over.” He ordered and didn’t even recognize his own voice. Something else had taken control over his body, something he had been suppressing his entire life. Now he didn’t want to suppress it anymore. He wanted to sit back and watch the monster take over.

As soon as the car had stopped he added a second hand and admired the feeling of the man’s Adam’s apple pressing against his palm. He could feel his pulse; he could feel every swallow, every gag on his hands as is he was reaching right into the man’s throat. The man gave a begging whimper and tried to make eye contact with Will. The monster made Will’s lips curl into a smile and used his voice to whisper

“So you’re dying. What does that have to do with _me?_ ”

He watched stunned as the man’s face turned red, then; as he squeezed harder, mesmerized by the feeling of power, it turned purple and salvia and tears were covering the man’s face. When he finally went limp Will let his hands rest on his neck for a few more minutes until he withdrew them. The monster was slowly climbing back inside its cage with a wink and the silent promise to be back and Will came to his senses again. He stared at the body next to him, disconcerted by what he had just done. He didn’t feel guilty. The man had been a scumbag, a pig. He didn’t deserve the gift of life; he had had no idea how to value it. It was his own fault he had lost it. Will didn’t know how long he had been sitting in the silent car when he suddenly knew what he had to do. He thought about looking for gloves, but his fingerprints were all over the car already. He hadn’t planned to kill the man when he got in after all. So he carefully searched the man’s pockets until he found what he had been looking for. He was relieved when he turned the phone on and discovered it wasn’t code protected. Will didn’t even know that he had memorized Hannibal’s number, let alone when, but his fingertips flew over the screen with ease and after a few seconds the doctor picked up. Will didn’t give him the chance to say anything.

“Dr. Lecter. I just killed a man.” Will was surprised how calm his voice sounded, how calm he felt. He had just killed a man. The corners of his lips curled up again, and this time the monster had nothing to do with it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal wants Will to perform his design

Hannibal was pleasantly surprised by Will’s call. Even more so by the reason behind the call. Could it be that his little mongoose had finally found its place? The memory of Will in the stable was still very vivid, his pupils blown, his voice the same cold, soothing calm it had just had on the phone.

The gun in his hand.

Death on his mind.

It had been the most beautiful thing Hannibal had ever seen.

 Yet he couldn’t allow it. He had to be sure Will was ready, he had to be sure the man in the stable wouldn’t have just been a surrogate for the doctor himself and that Will wouldn’t regret shooting him later.

Will couldn’t _regret_ his first real kill since Garett Jacob Hobbs. He had to crave it; it had to leave him wanting more. Much like one of Will’s strays, there was the risk he’d turn around and run away if the wrong move was made. Instead he had to come forward voluntarily, to let Hannibal take care of him until he was so dependent he wouldn’t run away. Until he finally trusted Hannibal again.

Until he accepted his new self.

The psychiatrist almost drove past the car that was parked on the side of the road, barely visible in the dark. When he got out of his Bentley he saw the phone Will had called him from on the floor shattered. Will had driven over it with the car, making sure every record of the call was destroyed. Hannibal smiled. Smart boy. The empath was in the act of picking up the pieces from the road, since they still had his fingerprints on them, and stuffed them in a small bag he had found in the car. Dr. Lecter stopped for a moment, admiring the sight. He saw the body lying a few feet into the woods, hidden just enough so no passing driver would be able to see it. Will must have carried the man, who looked quite strong and therefore heavy, even in his lifeless state. Hannibal was impressed. Will seemed so calm, so collected, as if he had been doing this his entire life. When the empath finally looked up the doctor realized the man was smiling, although the smile froze a little when he saw Hannibal.

“Good evening, Will.”

“Are you just going to stand there?” Will replied coldly and stood up to walk towards the body. Hannibal decided to let his rudeness pass. He always made an exception for Will in that respect. The man had the right to be angry at Hannibal, even though the doctor knew Will was already beginning to see that he didn’t just “use” him. He helped him become who he was meant to be. If anything, Will owed him gratitude and Hannibal was sure the day would come when Will would realize that too. Even if it would take years, Dr. Lecter was a patient man. But the current developments lead him to believe that maybe all his plans and hopes were to come to life a lot sooner than he’d anticipated.

He followed Will and stopped a few steps behind him, watching the young man. He threw a brief look at the body – strangled, just as Will had described it to him during one of their sessions. Hannibal wondered if this man had been another surrogate.

“Why did you kill him?” He asked lightly, as if he was asking for the time. Will glanced at Hannibal, meeting his eyes for the split of a second before dropping his gaze to the body again.

“Because I wanted to.” He simply said and crouched down next to the corpse. “He was an asshole.” He added and remembered how quick the smug smile had disappeared from the man’s face when he was squeezing the life out of him.

“What do you intend to do next?” Hannibal asked and took a few steps forward to stand directly above Will and the body. The younger man shrugged.

“My DNA is all over the car and the guy. We’ll have to just burn them.”

Hannibal frowned. Will still had so much to learn.

“And where is the art in that?” he asked mildly, and placed a hand on Will’s shoulder, knowing that the empath didn’t want to waste the man. He was yearning to make him beautiful, an artwork; just like Hannibal wanted him to.

Will flinched from the touch and shook his shoulder free. He pursed his lips and answered dryly

“I don’t have much of a choice.”

Hannibal shook his head, partly at the man’s physical reaction, partly at his answer.

“Of course you do. You’ve fantasized about this your entire life.”

Will looked up at Hannibal and flicked his tongue.

“Alright then, _Dr. Lecter._ How would you do it?”

Hannibal gave the man an amused look and crouched down next to him without once breaking the eye contact. To his surprise Will didn’t break it either.

“That doesn’t matter, Will. This is _your_ design.” He said and ran a hand through the young man’s curls. This time Will didn’t flinch.

The empath chewed on his lower lip, staring down at the body. Hannibal was still stroking through his hair and Will didn’t allow himself to think anything about that right now. All he knew was that it felt good.

“First I’d rip his tongue out. It’s what got him killed to begin with. Then I’d cut him open. I think I’d sew his stomach to his hands; like he ripped himself open. He did this to himself. I’d take his heart. He doesn’t deserve it.” Hannibal’s hand tightened in his hair and Will couldn’t suppress a soft moan. “My fingerprints might be on his neck so I’d have to skin him. I’d hang him from one of these trees. On a hook. Like a fish.” Will sounded almost cheerful and Hannibal was _mesmerized._ This was beyond fascinating.

Hannibal withdrew his hand from Will’s hair and rose to his feet. He walked to his car to get several tools. When he got back Will was still crouching next to the body and was apparently lost in thought. Hannibal smiled and bent down to cup Will’s chin and tipped his head up. He stared deeply into those stormy blue eyes, which seemed to be darker and even more beautiful all of a sudden. He reached for the younger man’s hand to press a scalpel into it and let his hand linger on Will’s a lot longer than necessary. He leaned closer until his lips almost brushed over Will’s ear.

“What are you waiting for?” He breathed and smiled when he felt the young man shiver.

*

The man was hanging from a tree in the middle of the forest, a steely hook in his shoulder; his abdomen wide open and his intestines slowly dripping to the muddy ground. Hannibal had done nothing but watched until now, watched how Will had cut the man open, watched how he had torn the skin from his neck; not meticulously and expertly cut, like Hannibal would have done it, no, practically _torn._

He had watched how Will had reached inside the man to take his heart from him, a heart he didn’t deserve, in the empath’s eyes. Hannibal wondered if _he_ deserved his heart in Will’s eyes. He wondered if Will deserved his own heart in his eyes. He had watched how Will lifted the organ from the man’s chest, his hands and arms covered in slick warm blood. He had done nothing but hand Will the little freezer. If he didn’t have the supreme self-control that he had, he would have pinned Will to the floor and licked the blood off his arms, his hands and his face. He would have shoved him against the very same tree their victim was hanging from and would have taken him right there in the middle of the forest.

But he knew that had to wait. Will didn’t have that kind of trust in him yet. He had to wait until Will would initiate it himself; he had to make him _beg_ for it. Will had finally taken on his true nature but Hannibal was far from done manipulating him. He wanted to claim the man in every way possible, but he didn’t want to do so without Will’s consent. He wanted Will to want it, to _need_ it.

When Will was done with the body, he stood next to Hannibal for a moment and stared up at his work. Hannibal dared to stroke through his curls again, since Will had seemed to like it before and felt to his delight that they were partly moist with blood.

“It’s perfect.” The younger man whispered with glassy eyes, still unable to tear his gaze from the corpse.

Hannibal smiled. He was truly proud of Will. He knew the man wasn’t 100% present at the moment; he knew he was experiencing the incredibly overwhelming high every killer knew; and he knew he could easily take advantage of that.

It was more than tempting and Will’s lips looked so awfully tasty with their victim’s blood smeared on them. He decided to minimize the risk he was taking and simply reached out to cup Will’s cheek and gently ran his thumb over his lips. He was surprised but pleased when Will’s tongue darted forward to meet his finger and when Hannibal withdrew his hand to lick his own finger clean he could taste their victim’s blood mixed with Will’s salvia. It was the most delicious taste the doctor had experienced in his life.

The display of the body was beautiful, but it still might have had some of Will’s DNA on it. One day, he was hoping, Will would go through the entire kill with him, to make it _their_ design, but for now he had to make sure the empath wouldn’t leave any evidence behind; he was unexperienced after all.

Additionally, the victim was strong and healthy and it would be a shame to let such delicate meat go to waste, especially when it had been _his_ Will who had caught it. Hannibal thought about taking his liver and maybe a thigh. But he needed to do that alone, Will wasn’t ready to see the Chesapeake Ripper in the act, or rather Hannibal wasn’t ready to let Will see. He also wouldn’t take the empath home and come back later, on one hand he needed the meat to be as fresh as possible, on the other he didn’t plan on bringing Will back to Wolf Trap. He was going to take him to Baltimore with him, the man was _his,_ and now their bond was stronger than it had ever been before. He wouldn’t want Will to wake up alone the next morning, realizing what he had done, surrounded by his dogs. He was going to be there, he was going to be the only thing Will could cling to; a small step to make the man more willing and more dependent.

So he carefully pulled a small syringe out of his pocket and injected Will in one quick, fluid movement. The younger man jerked his head up and stared at Hannibal, lips parting to say something but the next moment he was limb in the cannibal’s arms.

The doctor was finally able to give in to the temptation and he bent down to lick the remaining blood from Will’s soft, still parted lips. He allowed his tongue to briefly slip between them, brushing against Will’s for good measure and then he pulled back and carried the young man to his car. He placed him on the back seat and stroked through his silky curls one more time before he retrieved a plastic suit and a small box of tools from the trunk and went back into the forest.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say slow burn... But don't worry, the smut is coming ;P


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hungry?

When Will woke up he wasn’t sure where he was, but that changed in the split of a second when he took a breath without opening his eyes. The impossibly soft pillows underneath his head smelled like Hannibal and then there was the distant scent of a meal being prepared; a meal so delicious it could have only been prepared by Dr. Lecter. Will bit his lip. He had thought “delicious”. What was wrong with him? He knew exactly he was lying in the bed of a cannibal.

When he had first realized what the Ripper was doing with the victim’s organs he had been taken aback. Not disgusted, just…disconcerted. He had expected to throw up, or lose all appetite but even though the food at the BHSCI was horrible he didn’t. He had just...accepted it. He felt disgusted with himself for doing so, but he couldn’t un-eat every meal Hannibal had ever cooked for him after all, so where was the point at feeling bad?

Still, he didn’t want the smell of human meat in his nostrils, and he definitely didn’t want to find it _delicious._ So instead he buried his face deep in the pillows to replace everything else he smelled with Hannibal’s scent. He soon felt drowsy, not only because he couldn’t get enough oxygen with his nose pressed into the pillow like that, but also because Hannibal’s cologne was possibly the most intoxicating thing he had ever smelled. When he heard a door being opened he lifted his head and finally opened his eyes. He realized the sun was setting; he must have been asleep the entire day. Hannibal walked towards the bed carrying a plate. He placed it on the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed. Then he leaned forward to take Will’ pulse. Will wanted to withdraw his hand, but he felt weak.

It would have been so easy. Reach out and wrap both hands around his neck. Squeeze and watch him die. He was sitting close enough.

“How are you feeling Will?” The doctor’s voice was so damn soothing.

“What did you give me?” Will asked, his voice a bit crackled. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes again, not wanting to look at Hannibal, who was still holding his hand. He must have already taken his pulse by now. Why didn’t he let go?

Will tried to pretend he actually _wanted_ him to let go. He tried to pretend he didn’t absolutely love the feeling of Hannibal’s thumb softly stroking over his palm.

So easy. Grab his hand and pull him down to the bed. Push his face into the covers until he went limp.

“Just something to help you sleep. Do you remember what happened last night?”

Will opened his eyes again and stared at Hannibal.

“Yes. I killed someone.” he said with a steady voice.

“And how does that make you feel?”

Will was finally able to withdraw his hand and let out a sharp laugh.

“This isn’t one of our sessions. You drugged and abducted me.”

The doctor’s lips curled into a slight smile.

“You are free to leave anytime you want.” he said. It wasn’t entirely true and he wouldn’t have said it if he would have thought there was even the hint of a chance Will would actually try.

“Ok. I want to leave.” The young profiler said reluctantly but didn’t move an inch.

Silence fell upon them for a few minutes and Will sighed and dropped his head back into the pillows resigned.

“You haven’t answered my question, Will.”

“I don’t know… I don’t think I’ve really…processed it yet.”

“The first kill can be overwhelming.”

“It wasn’t my first kill.”

Hannibal furrowed his brow.

“You’ve told me so often Garrett Jacobs Hobbs was _not_ your victim. Did you have a change of heart?”

Will sucked his lower lip into his mouth. Damn Hannibal for being right. Damn Hannibal for knowing. Damn Hannibal for being there for him.

It would have been so easy.

“No.”

“It wasn’t the first time you took a life, but it was the first time you could freely live out your fantasies. Was it as satisfying as you had hoped?”

Will could only nod. He still didn’t feel guilty. He felt guilty for _not_ feeling guilty, but the pounding sensations of pride, power and strength were the most overwhelming. He realized the room had gotten silent again and he could feel Hannibal’s eyes on him. He faintly remembered his hand in his hair, his fingers on his cheek and his thumb in his mouth, and he wanted to feel all that again. He felt himself blushing, mostly out of anger and quickly tore his attention to the plate on the nightstand.

“What is that?” he asked, fearing the answer already.

“Heart.”

Strangle him with his own tie. Watch him choke. Watch him die.

“Fantasizing about killing me again?”

How could he sound so amused?

Will averted his eyes and stared out of the window.

“I’m not eating that.” he said defiantly, ignoring Hannibal’s question.

Hannibal sighed and reached out to brush some of Will’s curls out of his face.

“You have to eat something.” he stated, not missing the way Will’s eyes fluttered shut when his hand continued to caress his hair.

“I don’t want to.” Will muttered, a hint less defensive than before.

Hannibal drew his hand back and took the plate. Then he leaned over Will, placing the warm plate on his chest and propping himself up on the bed, his arm next to Will’s head so his hand could return to his curls.

Will shivered and felt a dangerous heat settle in his stomach. Hannibal was half lying on top of him with his upper body. His chest was pressing against Will’s abdomen and his face was definitely too close. The only thing between them was the plate on Will’s chest and when Hannibal picked up the fork the younger man pressed his lips together defiantly. It felt childish but he wasn’t just going to let Hannibal feed him a human heart. Even though he was incredibly hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything in two days.

Take the fork. Jam it in his throat. _So_ easy.

 Hannibal sighed and decided to change his tactic. He put the fork back on the plate and did something he would have never even considered under normal circumstances. He dipped his index finger in the warm gravy next to the meat. The doctor extended his hand and pressed the finger against Will’s lips, slowly smoothing the sauce over the empath’s mouth until he finally stopped fighting and parted his lips. Hannibal shoved the finger into his mouth and bit his own lip when he felt Will’s tongue curling up against his finger, the strong muscle licking him clean. When he withdrew his finger after a while the young man huffed and licked his lips. Hannibal suppressed a pleased smile when the empath willingly opened his mouth for the fork this time. Just like a kitten, one had to _make_ him taste before he ate willingly. Dr. Lecter noted this as a success, even though Will didn’t look all that happy while eating the heart. Nevertheless, it was an amazingly satisfying and arousing sight to see him taste the outcome of his first hunt; to see him eat the meal although he knew what was in it. Will shared his secret now, as much as Hannibal shared Will’s, and it seemed like the younger man was starting to accept it, _every aspect_ of it.

Neither of them said a word until the plate was empty and Hannibal slowly sat back up, Will immediately missing the warmth of his body.

“Did they find him yet?” Will asked, finally breaking the silence. He had thought about biting Hannibal’s finger off. He could still taste the man’s heart on his tongue, and it had admittedly tasted delicious. Will frowned at the thought. He also still tasted Hannibal’s finger and wished it wouldn’t fade under the taste of the heart so much.

The doctor shook his head.

“I am sure they will call us in when they do. If that occurs you have to stay calm, Will. You have to play along and detach yourself from the truth.”

Will looked up to meet Hannibal’s eyes.

“Is that what you do? You simply detach yourself?”

“One has to wear a mask if their true face won’t be accepted.”

“Or would get them imprisoned.”

Dr. Lecter smiled. He was confident Will would be able to deal with the crime scene. He may not have been as accustomed to lies as Hannibal was, but the doctor would be there to make sure nothing went wrong. Jack had two killers in his team now.

He took the plate and was about to leave the room when the empath suddenly cleared his throat and propped himself up on his elbows. Hannibal turned around and looked at the man questioningly. Will stared at Hannibal’s tie, once again unable to make eye contact. He was obviously struggling to say something and chewed on his lower lip hesitantly. Hannibal decided to wait and see if the young man would be able to bring himself to say it.

“Could you…” Will trailed off and closed his eyes. It was easier to shut out the reality like this.

“Could you stay?”

He tried to convince himself that he had said it because he wanted to get inside Lecter’s head, or at least because he wanted to allow himself more fantasies. Not because he simply didn’t want to be alone.

Hannibal was most pleased by the question. His plan was proceeding way faster than he had hoped, maybe Will was already more dependent than he had realized.

He knew _he_ was obsessively dependent upon Will and he had to make sure it was the same way vice versa. Otherwise he could endanger his entire existence. Will Graham was a bittersweet weakness for him, but he was convinced that the way things were going, that didn’t have to be a bad thing.

Still, he couldn’t give in just yet; he had to wait for Will to be desperate. One wrong move and the stray runs. Or attacks. Hannibal faked an apologetic smile and stepped closer to the bed once more; extending one hand to cup the younger man’s face and thumbed over his cheekbone. This time Will didn’t try to hide his reactions anymore and leaned into the touch helplessly.

“I am sorry William, but I have a patient. I will be back in three hours at most. Feel free to call if you need anything. I took the liberty of bringing you a change of clothes from your house.” He added and motioned at a bag that was standing on a chair nearby.

“You broke into my house?” Will asked warily.

“You keep an extra key under the dog bowl on the porch.” Hannibal retorted and Will decided not to wonder how the man could possibly know that.

“And the dogs just let you in?”

They could have jumped him, thrown him to the ground, ripped his throat out with their teeth, spilled his blood on Will’s floor.

“I believe your dogs are rather fond of me.” Hannibal smiled, as if he was reading Will’s thoughts, and with those words he turned around and left the room.

His pleased smile faded. He hadn’t been lying entirely, he did have a patient. The psychiatrist realized that this was going to be as hard for him as it was supposed to be for Will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can hear your screams...  
> Don't get the pitchforks and the torches just yet. Porn is on your way.


	4. Chapter 4

The call came at about 9pm; an hour after Hannibal had left Will. Jack was sitting in his office and sorted through files but he wasn’t really feeling himself. His thoughts wandered to Will, to Miriam, to Hannibal and of course to Bella. Then the call came. A body had been found in a forest close to Wolf Trap. Several organs were missing and according to the officer on the phone the crime scene looked rather grim. Jack rubbed at his forehead after he had hung up. He had hoped with Chilton out of the way they’d catch a break for once. If Chilton _really_ was the Chesapeake Ripper. Jack sighed. He thought about calling Dr. Lecter or Will but decided to take a look at the crime scene himself first. It was only a short drive from Will’s home, and if they’d need him he could always call from there.

He thought about taking Miriam with him. The woman was still working on processing what had happened to her, but she could be an excellent agent and in the end she had been the only one who had been able to come close enough to the Ripper, _too close._ He hadn’t asked her yet if she wanted to pick up where she had left off and join the BSU, but it couldn’t hurt to include her in a few cases until then, to give her a gentle push; right?

Even though she could have really been helpful he decided against calling her in just yet. He didn’t want to make the same mistake twice and give one of his agents more than they could handle. There was still some legal stuff due about the shot Miriam had fired at Chilton, and after Will’s breakdown the BSU wasn’t exactly in everyone’s good books.

Jack had no idea his team included two killers. He had no idea the crime scene he was about to see had been Will Graham’s design.

*

When Hannibal came home Will was sitting in the living room, deeply lost in a book. Hannibal stood in the doorframe and watched him for a while before he cleared his throat and Will jerked his head up startled.

“Perfume: The story of a murderer. Patrick Süskind.” Hannibal remarked, a bit surprised this was the book Will had picked. The younger man shrugged.

“At university we had to do an assignment once; to try and profile a fictional killer.”

“And this was the killer you picked?” Hannibal asked curiously. He walked over to sit next to Will on the couch. The book was originally German and few people in the States knew it. The empath nodded.

“Yeah, I found him the most interesting.”

“And why is that?”

“He did what he did for a reason. He didn’t just kill for the pleasure of taking someone’s life; he wanted to create something; something so beautiful it was beyond human beliefs. All this time he was searching for his masterpiece.”

“And he found it.” Hannibal said and looked directly at Will.

Will understood and dropped his gaze immediately. He felt uncomfortable and yet it was almost _domestic_ to sit with Hannibal like that, only the dim light of the small reading lamp brightening the dark room, pointing at them like a spotlight. He felt Hannibal’s hands picking the book from his and saw how it was carefully placed on the coffee table. The doctor leaned closer and Will instinctively shifted further away. Hannibal only shook his head disapprovingly and reached up to take Will’s glasses from his nose. They were placed next to the book and Will finally looked up to meet Hannibal’s gaze. What he saw equally intimidated and aroused him; the doctor’s eyes were darkened with unmistakable desire and the lust seemed to bring out a flame in them that made them seem almost crimson. Hannibal leaned closer until their lips almost touched, his hands holding Will’s hips in place with an iron grip so the empath couldn’t escape anymore. It wasn’t necessary; his eyes alone were trapping Will. He spoke in a quiet, low voice; his accent more audible than most times and made sure Will didn’t just hear his words, but felt them on his lips.

“You are my masterpiece, Will Graham.”

Then he finally pressed his lips against Will’s and started out with slow, careful movements until he felt the other responding. He ran his tongue over these beautiful lips and pressed down on Will’s lower lip until he parted them- much like he had done for the heart before- and granted him entrance. He started exploring Will’s mouth, memorizing every corner, every tooth and every part that made the empath particularly responsive. He stroked his tongue over Will’s, almost as if to encourage him to react and he felt the muscle slowly pressing against his own tongue.

Will was letting his guard down and slid his tongue along Hannibal’s, pushing it around in his mouth and tilting his head to allow the kiss to become even deeper. Hannibal moved his hands up Will’s sides and stopped at his collar, slowly working the first few buttons open until he could access the young man’s bare chest. He ran both hands over the skin and felt muscles tensing under his touch. He continued kissing Will until he moaned and kissed back almost as aggressively as Hannibal himself. When the doctor finally allowed him to break the kiss for air Will was panting and his heart was racing as if he was about to jump off a cliff. Hannibal didn’t lose much time and moved on to Will’s neck while the empath was still catching his breath. He was almost drowning in the beautiful sounds Will made when he was sucking and biting his skin. The sounds intensified when he started rubbing teasing circles over Will’s hardening nipples. The profiler started tugging at Hannibal’s vest and soon it landed on the coffee table, covering the book and the glasses. After that he started unbuttoning Hannibal’s shirt with trembling hands until it hung loosely from his shoulders. The doctor didn’t shake it off. Their position was still kind of awkward so Hannibal pushed Will back against the couch and pinned him down, immediately feeling the younger man’s erection. Will’s cheeks were flushed and Hannibal ground down against his groin to make the profiler aware of how hard he was himself. Will groaned deeply and grabbed Hannibal’s shirt collar to pull him into another bruising kiss while the doctor continued rolling his hips against Will’s. He wanted to claim Will, to fill him, to take him.

But it wasn’t time yet.

Still, he could think of a few other ways to make this evening pleasing for both of them. He tore Will’s shirt open, buttons bouncing on the ground and shifted, biting an angry red trail from Will’s throat to his hip and started opening his pants with a sly smile. The young man arched his back and Hannibal pulled his erection free, staring at Will’s length mesmerized. He had often imagined this moment, the beautiful man stretched beneath him, completely naked and desperate for his touch, but now that it was actually happening the sight was more overwhelming that he had expected. He bent down to kiss the leaking tip and Will pushed up his hips with an impatient growl. Hannibal smiled and pressed the younger man’s hips down with his hands to keep him from moving. He had waited for this for so long and he was going to take his time. He ran his tongue over the head to lick off the precum, and it almost felt like tasting an exceptionally rich wine. Then he took the tip in his mouth and started moving his head downwards agonizingly slow, until he had taken him in fully. The head was pressing against the back of his throat and made him gag slightly, causing Will to dig his fingernails into the flesh of Hannibal’s shoulders, where he was clutching at underneath his shirt, searching for some sort of stability.

The nails dug in deep enough to draw blood when Hannibal hollowed out his cheeks and sucked. Will’s head flew back against the couch and he was squeezing his eyes shut, knowing the sight of Hannibal’s lips stretched over his cock added to the sensation of his warm wet mouth taking him in would have made him come in an instant. He felt Hannibal’s shrewd tongue flicking and curling against his length, he felt his teeth gently grazing the sensitive skin at the base of his cock, and dragging them all the way up to the tip when we pulled his head back. Will whimpered and wasn’t far from actually begging as suddenly Hannibal’s phone vibrated on the coffee table, the sound breaking the wonderful melody of moans and huffed breaths that had developed between them. Hannibal pulled back completely to throw a look at the interruption. Will’s eyes flew open and he stared at Hannibal with blown pupils.

“Don’t stop.” He breathed and dragged his fingernails, still buried in Hannibal’s flesh down his back, pushing the shirt off his shoulders and creating beautiful red stripes. He felt a little bit of warm blood trickling over his fingers. Hannibal couldn’t hold back a moan this time and Will felt his cock twitch at the sound. The doctor was slightly panting as he tore his gaze from the phone with Jack’s name on the display back to Will and murmured

“I believe your work of art has been found.”

As much as Will wanted to see _his_ crime scene again, see the body and know he had been the one who put it there, look around and see people who had no idea of the grinning monster inside him; the urge to finish what they had started here was bigger and he knew just what to do to make Hannibal think that too.

He brought one of his hands; his fingers covered with a thin streak of Hannibal’s blood, to his mouth and licked it off slowly, while he continued scratching down the doctors back with the other one. Hannibal’s eyes darkened and the next moment he was devouring Will’s mouth and biting down on his lower lip hard, his teeth piercing through the flesh. Will gave a sharp cry and Hannibal grinned, the younger man’s lip still between his teeth. He let go and licked Will’s and his own blood out of his lover’s mouth, craving the taste and pulled back to throw a look at Will’s swollen, bleeding lip. The message was clear. -Don’t challenge me.- He shifted back to swallow the empath’s now throbbing cock down and with the pain and the adrenalin from the bite rushing through Will it didn’t take him long to come now. Hannibal felt the slick heat in his mouth and he could feel the taste mixing with the taste of Will’s blood that was still lingering on his tongue. The whimpering cry that escaped Will’s throat when Hannibal sucked out every last drop until his cock slowly softened in his mouth, made the doctor glad for a moment that he didn’t have any next door neighbors. Not that he was worried about the noise pollution, no, he couldn’t care less; he simply didn’t want any creature other than himself to ever be able to hear Will make such sounds. It was a symphony for him and him alone and he swore to kill anyone who’d even think about listening to it. Will was _his_ and his split lip with the drying blood was a sweet reminder of that.

Will was trembling and still seeing stars as the doctor climbed off him to fetch something to clean the young man up. When he was coming down from his high he realized the throbbing pain in his lower lip. He carefully licked over the split and winced when it immediately reopened, new blood swelling up. Hannibal was quickly by his side and wiped a soft clean tissue soaked in disinfectant over the wound. It burned and Will huffed a breath. Hannibal leaned in and kissed the bitter taste off his lips almost sweetly, careful to avoid causing any further pain. His own back was sore too, Will scratches reached almost all the way down his spine.

They had marked each other. Scarred each other.  Both were still panting and staring at the other. Will wasn’t sure what to say, he hadn’t expected this to happen, he hadn’t expected their relationship to take this kind of turn. Going by Hannibal’s smug smile he had. He had probably even been planning it.

Had he manipulated Will into wanting this? For a moment the young man thought back to the feeling of a choking Adam’s apple pressed against his palm and wished it would have been Hannibal’s. Was all this still part of Hannibal’s sick game? Had he been turned into a figure again?

The doctor must have seen the doubt in his eyes and he sank one hand into Will’s damp curls and rested his forehead against his. He leaned forward to kiss just Will’s upper lip to spare the wound and Will knew. He wasn’t a figure. He wasn’t the opponent.

He was Hannibal’s masterpiece. Whether he wanted to or not.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a blood kink, YOU have a blood kink! *hides*
> 
> Btw, the book mentioned is also a movie with Ben Whishaw in case you didn't know. I strongly recommend you check out both! It also stars Alan Rickman if that sweetens the pot for you. Which it should. 
> 
> Next chapter will be up soon <3


	5. Chapter 5

It felt surreal. The yellow “crime-scene“-tape, the little crowd of reporters and curious onlookers, the anxious and stressed agents. It was just like any other crime scene and yet it was surreal and so very different. They were walking towards the forest, the same path they’d been walking the previous night, the same path Hannibal had carried him. Then it had been peaceful, quiet, perfect. Now there were people everywhere and Will felt annoyed at them. He knew none of them would ever be able to appreciate what they saw. He knew Hannibal was the only one who could see the art. He felt the doctor’s eyes on him; he was staring at him, monitoring his reaction as if this was an experiment. Maybe it was. When they got closer to the scene Will could smell the sweetly piercing scent of death and his lips curled into the hint of a smile. Hannibal averted his eyes satisfied. Quod erat demonstrandum.

“Will I’ve been calling you!” Jack’s angry voice reached them a few seconds before the man did. He nodded his greetings to Dr. Lecter who stepped slightly forward. Jack Crawford didn’t have the right to scream at his Will; if Hannibal had it his way, he wouldn’t even have the right to address him at all. No one would.

“I lost my phone.” Will simply replied and took a small step towards Jack, pressing himself past Hannibal. He didn’t need the man’s protection. He wasn’t his property. He felt Hannibal’s disapproving gaze on his neck but he didn’t turn around. Instead he focused on Jack who led them deeper into the woods, towards the man Will had killed.

“The victim has been found by a jogger two hours ago. We have no ID yet, but we found his car in a lake a few miles away.”

They had meanwhile reached the scene and Will stared up at the man. He noticed a few things that were different from how he had left them and wondered what else Hannibal might have done while he was asleep.

He felt it was surprisingly easy to control his expressions. He was wearing a mask now too, and it was from the same piece of skin as Hannibal’s mask.

They were one.

“He’s been hanging there for at least… 10 hours.” Price chimed in, calling to them from the body he was closely examining. Zeller was crouching next to him and studied the intestines that were spilled on the ground. He looked up and was about to say something to the approaching men when his eyes caught Will’s wounded lip.

“Whoa, what happened to you Graham?” he asked and raised his eyebrows.

“I fell.” Will retorted dryly without even paying attention to him, his gaze still riveted on the corpse. The lie rolled off his tongue easily and although Zeller eyed him warily he seemed to have bought it.

“Are there any organs missing?” Will asked and tasted the heart on his tongue. Jimmy nodded and handed Brian tweezers with a hair he had picked from the victim’s clothing. Will wasn’t worried- He knew Hannibal had taken care of everything and the hair was likely from the victim himself. The young profiler realized he didn’t even know the man’s name.

“Yea, the heart and the liver.” Zeller answered and inspected the hair intently before putting it into an evidence bag. Jack motioned the two forensics to step back and let Will do his thing.

Will closed his eyes and the pendulum swung. When he reopened them, for the first time in his life he wasn’t reconstructing the crime. He was _reliving_ it.

He was drawn back to reality when he felt a firm hand on the small of his back and a low murmur in his ear

“Will, you should stop smiling.” Hannibal said, unable to keep a certain amusement from his voice. Will’s eyes flew open and the hand was gone but Hannibal was still standing close to him. The empath took a step away and turned to wave for Jack to come over.

He gave them the profile of an artist, not revealing too much and subtly planting some wrong ideas. When he was done Jack hesitated before asking

“Do you think he’ll kill again?”

He felt both the FBI agent’s and the serial killer’s gaze on him, staring at him, eager for his answer for entirely different reasons.

Was he going to kill again?

There was the question he’d been avoiding to ask himself. Will dropped his gaze and stared off into the depths of the forest.

“At some point, definitely.”

*

“You took his liver?” Will was staring through the windshield. They were on their way to the lab, Hannibal’s car silently floating through the darkness. It had started snowing again.

“I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

“I thought this was supposed to be _my_ design.”

Hannibal furrowed his brow.

“It was.”

Will clenched his fists and pursed his lips. He turned his head to stare out of the side window and to see as little of Hannibal as possible.

“I’m not a cannibal.”

He felt fingertips catching his chin and turning his head back forward. Hannibal threw him a mildly amused peripheral look.

“You have been for over a year.”

Will frowned.

“I’m not like you.” He all but hissed and crossed his arms. Hannibal briefly turned his head to look at him before looking back at the road.

“May I remind you that we’re coming from a crime scene you are accountable for; driving to the autopsy of a corpse you have created?” 

Will swallowed. He _was_ like Hannibal. A killer. A monster. A cannibal? He flinched when he felt Hannibal’s hand on his thigh and gritted his teeth.

“What are you fighting Will? You’ve passed the point of no return.” Hannibal’s voice was low and calm and his fingers lightly brushed Will’s groin before he withdrew his hand and returned his focus to the road.

“I’m fighting the urge to keep going.” Will muttered.

“Have you processed how you feel about your crime yet?”

“You know how I feel.”

Hannibal nodded. Will felt good, powerful and satisfied.

“Then why do you want to keep suppressing who you are?”

Will froze. There was a part of him that wasn’t like Hannibal. A human part. A good part. A part that was still waiting for him to wake up and realize what he had done. A part that was begging for the breakdown he thought he might have had after doing such a thing. A part that was hoping he’d start feeling bad about it.

“Because unlike you I have a conscience.”

“Maybe it would be advisable to question your conscience.”

Silence fell upon them and Will buried himself with his thoughts. He had lied straight to Jack’s face. He had given him a wrong profile. He had been staring at a crime he had committed, smiling and lying. Maybe he did have to question his conscience.

“What are you going to do with the liver?” Will asked weakly. He was hoping he could try to remain Hannibal’s only victim in that respect in the future. He wouldn’t be able to watch Jack or Alana, people he cared for, eating the predator’s false promises and walking deeper into a cave they weren’t aware existed. He was hoping he could take the bullet for them. Maybe now that Hannibal had someone to truly share his meals with and see them for what they were he wouldn’t need them anymore. Will knew he was wrong.

“I was planning a dinner party. I do hope you will be present.” It wasn’t a question; it was an order, a command and Will felt his jaw clenching. He wasn’t a stray, he wasn’t Hannibal’s property and he definitely wasn’t going to take orders from him.

As if to remind him just how wrong he was the split in his lip reopened. Will groaned annoyed and Hannibal handed him a tissue to catch the blood that was trickling over his chin. He would have much preferred to lick it off but unfortunately he had to focus on driving.

“You have to stop chewing on it. It will get infected.” Hannibal almost sounded like an irritated parent for a moment and Will couldn’t hold back a grin.

“You didn’t seem too worried about that when _you_ were chewing on it.” He said and his voice dropped lower than he had intended. He saw the flaming spark in Hannibal’s eyes in the rearview mirror and swallowed as he felt the heat it sent down his spine. In an instant the doctor’s eyes were calm and impervious as ever again and they parked outside the lab.

*

“The victim’s name was Ansgar Darmon. 36 years old, not married, lived with his sister.” Jack said, holding a file. They were standing in the morgue, looking down at Will’s creation.

“Ansgar?” Will looked up from the body with knitted brows. Jimmy nodded eagerly and chimed in

“An old Celtic name. It translates as ‘warrior’. In Norse mythology it also means ‘Spear of the gods’. People with this name are believed to have an exceptional desire for peace and harmony.”

“It’s a stupid name…” Zeller threw in and rolled his eyes at Jimmy.

Will ran a hand through his curls. The man might have had a desire for harmony, but only for his _own._ He wasn’t a warrior. He was a coward. Not a spear; a shield he had used to protect only himself, not caring about the rest of the world. He stared down at the man. He had gotten what he had deserved.

In that moment a young trainee stormed in, his cheeks slightly flushed and a tablet in his hands. He seemed quite nervous and when Will saw the screen of the tablet he knew why. Brining Jack bad news was understandably intimidating for the young agent.

“Agent Crawford you…um, you’ll want to see this…” he stuttered, handed Jack the tablet and turned around to leave the morgue in the same movement. It almost seemed like an antelope fleeing a bear.

Jack stared at the tablet and his face turned red, his nostrils inflated and he shouted

“How did Freddie Lounds get pictures of our crime scene?!”

*

“Agent Crawford, are you going to threaten me again? It’s not against the law to take pictures. And you can’t really call it _contaminating a crime scene_ when one of your own agents took them.”

Freddie was smiling up at Jack calm as ever. She noticed Will Graham’s lip was bruised and her mind immediately sorted out if there might be a story there. Also she found it strange to see both Dr. Lecter _and_ Will Graham accompanying Jack. She had hoped for some kind of revenge-betrayal-hatred-drama inside the FBI, but Dr. Lecter didn’t seem upset at all, neither at the fact Will had accused him of being the Chesapeake Ripper nor that the younger man had tried to get him killed- a story most people didn’t know, but she had her contacts in the BHSCI and had already typed an article about it. A shame she couldn’t upload it, but Jack Crawford did have something in his hands against her and Will Graham was a touchy subject.

The Agent was staring at her, his expression turning from rage to confusion and immediately back to rage.

“What do you mean ‘one of _my_ agents’?”

“Oh, Agent Crawford, I wouldn’t want to get the poor kid fired. He didn’t even realize I took copies before I left his flat.”

Jack sighed. He knew there was no point in trying to get a name, it had probably been one of the younger, unexperienced agents and he couldn’t even really blame him; Freddie Lounds was an attractive woman and a master at manipulation. Yet this was a new record, even for her. It had been barely 6 hours since they had found the body. Although it was already 3am Jack had insisted to pay Ms. Lounds a visit immediately. Will was exhausted and tired, and the mere presence of Freddie Lounds made his stomach twist. She had ridiculously degraded his work in her article and again he felt an Adam’s apple pressed against his palm. Jack’s voice tore him from his thoughts.

“You have to take it down, Ms. Lounds, I don’t think you understand; this killer has a huge amount of rage. When he reads this he’ll want to come after you!”

Will bit back a smile. Smart Jack. Smart after all. Freddie narrowed her eyes.

“This is why you’re here in the middle of the night, isn’t it? You want to use me as bait?”

Jack didn’t answer but his face showed she was right. Freddie let out a high pitched laughter.

“Nothing’s too risky for you, isn’t it, Agent Crawford? You’d sacrifice not only your agents but even civilians as long as it catches you a killer.”

“I’m not ‘sacrificing’ anyone. Of course you’ll be put under police protection.”

“Listen, I’ll be your bait, but only if you help me out too.” Lounds said with a sly smile.

“I want exclusive insight about everything on this new killer.”

Jack had expected something like that and gave a disapproving grunt but nodded nonetheless.

“Ms. Lounds, you got yourself a deal.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should be interesting....
> 
> Quod erat demonstrandum is a latin phrase usable for all kinds of experiments and means "what had to be demonstrated" in case you didn't know 
> 
> Also I apologize on Zeller's behalf to anyone named Ansgar.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is confronted with meeting his victim's sister

“Before you ask- yes I do want to kill Freddie Lounds and no, I am not going to do it.”

Hannibal threw a look at Will. They were in the car again, the sun already rising.

“You hold great rage against her. It might be good for you. ”

“I hold great rage against _you_ too.” Will replied and Hannibal watched him interested in the rearview mirror before he tore his gaze back to the road and started speaking.

“Would killing me still feel righteous? Did killing Ansgar Darmon feel righteous? You said he didn’t deserve his heart. I can only presume I don’t deserve mine.”

“You don’t.”

“And yet I’m still alive.”

“Well it’s not like I haven’t tried.” Will huffed, half sarcastic, half serious.

“You’ve stopped trying.” It was both a question and a statement and Will shifted on his seat. He didn’t tell him that he couldn’t kill him because he needed him. He didn’t tell him that watching him live felt just as satisfying as the thought of watching him die. Instead he dropped his gaze and said

“I don’t even know if I generally want to kill again.”

“You said something quite different on the crime scene before.”

Will let a moment of silence pass and shrugged.

“That was just to throw Jack off.” It was a weak lie.

“Will, I thought we agreed to be honest to each other.”

They were a few miles away from the exit to Wolf Trap and Will clenched his jaw and stared at the sunrise.

“I want to go home.” He said without looking at Hannibal.

“I was hoping you’d stay the night.” came the answer.

Will closed his eyes for a moment and remembered the feeling of Hannibal’s hot moist mouth on his cock; his teeth on his lips; his hands on his chest and felt himself hardening. He almost bit his lower lip but remembered the wound and huffed instead.

“I need to figure things out.” He muttered. Will was aware it sounded like a line from some bad romantic-comedy, but it was the truth. He felt like his mind was constantly blocking out the fact that he had killed someone and he needed to let it sink in; to find out how he truly felt.

He needed to feel bad about it. He needed to feel bad about everything. He needed to feel guilty, he needed to regret. Regret killing a man. Regret calling Dr. Lecter. Regret mutilating the body. Regret eating a human heart. Regret coming in the mouth of a serial killer. Regret lying to his superior.

Because so far he didn’t. None of it. He felt good about killing someone, glad for calling Dr. Lecter, artistic for mutilating the body, sated by eating a heart, indescribably aroused by being sucked off by the Chesapeake Ripper and powerful about lying to Jack. All he really wanted was whiskey and a few hours for himself.

Hannibal sighed and took the exit to Wolf Trap. He had been expecting this; Will clinging to what was left of his morals and trying to feel like something he wasn’t anymore. He had known it would come, but that didn’t make it less irritating. He didn’t want to let the man go, he wanted to take him with him where he belonged and for a moment he thought about drugging him again. He decided against it. It would do nothing to win Will’s trust back. So he drove to Wolf Trap without saying another word. He really had hoped to take the empath to Baltimore. He had hoped to fall asleep with him in his arms, surrounded by his intoxicating scent. Now that he got treatment for his encephalitis, the sweet stinging flames were almost gone, but unlike Hannibal had expected that didn’t impair the smell, the contrary in fact.

When he stopped in front of Will’s house he expected the young man to mumble a good bye and hurry out. To his surprise Will leaned in to kiss him; slow, long and deep even though it must have hurt his lower lip. Then he got out and walked to the door, went inside and greeted the dogs without turning around again. Hannibal still felt his lips on his and stared at the house for a few more minutes. He truly couldn’t predict Will Graham.

*

Will was sitting on his porch and drinking his third glass of whiskey. Maybe fourth. The dogs were cheerfully chasing each other around in the garden, only Winston lay by his feet and eyed his owner curiously. Will tried to feel…something, but he just felt empty. In a good way. He felt peaceful. Like there had been a storm raging inside him his entire life that had finally found its way out. But there was something that was scratching along the edge of his mind, something the storm had left behind. Damage. Damage he had been burying behind a wall, he had been trying to get over. His eyes slowly closed and he saw her; restless blue eyes that held intelligence, fear and melancholy.

“Abigail.”

The word escaped his lips so silently not even the dog to his feet raised his head. It was a whiff of breath, immediately carried away by the cold wind. A drop landed on his hand and Will stared at it. He hadn’t even realized he was crying. He was clutching at the glass in his hand, his knuckles turning white. The sudden sadness he had felt was quickly wiped away by something else. Rage. Hatred. Partly at Hannibal but mostly at himself. He had kissed the man. He had kissed the man who had killed Abigail, even more than that, he had let him seduce him, _suck him_ and it had felt good. The glass in his hand broke and cut deep into his palm. Will looked at the blood dripping down his fingers but he didn’t bother to clean the wound or to bind it. He didn’t even feel any pain. Winston had winced and jumped up at the sound of breaking glass and stared at the floor, just like his owner.

Stared at the shattered glass.

 

 

And in the shadows of the forest stood a man and watched them, his grin evil and his thoughts even more. So this was him. Will Graham. The artist. He might not know he was watching, might not know he was there yet, but the man would make sure to get Will’s attention soon.

Soon.

*

When Will drove to Baltimore the next day he felt better. His thoughts had cleared up a bit and the rage had faded. He still didn’t feel guilty about killing Ansgar and he was starting to accept that he probably never would. His bounded hand and the slight headache from too much whiskey and too little sleep were the only remains of the void his thoughts had thrown themselves into last night.

There was a part of him that wanted to kill Hannibal, more than anything. To make him choke on his own blood and watch the life leave his eyes and travel straight to hell. That was the part that felt like betrayal against the friend he once knew before he saw the monster.

 And then there was a part that yearned for his touch, for the feeling of safety he gave him, for the way he anchored him, understood him. Made him feel less alone. That was the part that felt like betrayal against Abigail. Georgia. Beverly.

Will wondered what part would take over in the end. At the moment he was balancing between them; stumbling on an edge sharp as a knife and ready to fall. But fall in which direction?

Had he fallen already?

The young man ran his tongue over the wound on his lip carefully. He parked his car behind Jack’s and threw a wary look at the house in front of which they were standing. Jack had sent him the address but not any information as to why they were here. Will looked around and was equally disappointed and relieved when he didn’t see Hannibal’s Bentley anywhere.

Without a greeting Jack walked towards him and handed Will a file while pointing at the house.

“The victim’s sister, Berura Darmon.”

Will arched his brow. Their parents definitely had had a thing for unusual names. Then he realized. He was about to talk to the victim’s sister.

He was about to face a loss _he_ had cost.

He was about to talk the person Ansgar had left behind when he had killed him.

And now the guilt was finally kicking in.

Will swallowed and stared at the house.

Berura. An old Hebrew name. Meaning pure.

Suddenly he wished Hannibal was there.

*

“Ms. Darmon, did your brother have any enemies?”

“Ansgar was…difficult. He got into a lot of trouble but…” The young woman glanced up at Jack. Her eyes were red from crying and Will had never tried to avoid eye contact so desperately in his life. He knew what he would see in those eyes. Loss. Tragedy. Injustice. Rage. Abigail.

Suddenly he was back in the void.

And he was stumbling on the edge more than ever before, its sharpness cutting through him as he tried to find stability. He wanted Hannibal to be here, to hold him, to make him forget.

And he also wanted to remember. He wanted the monster’s throat in his hands and his Adam’s apple pressed against his palm. He wanted to feel how he took his very last breath.

“Will!” Jack’s tone had an annoyance to it that suggested this wasn’t the first time he’d said his name.

Will jerked his head up.

“Sorry I was… thinking.” he muttered and this time the lie didn’t roll off. It was sticking to his tongue, burning and heavy. He felt the woman’s eyes on him. Daggers- no- _antlers_ piercing through his chest.

“I asked you to take a look at Mr. Darmon’s room.” Jack said and stared at Will. The empath knew what he was thinking. Was it starting again? Was the tea-cup breaking again?

“It’s upstairs, the second door to the right.” Berura added with a weak voice. Will was glad for the chance to leave the room and nodded briefly at Ms. Darmon, still not daring to look at her. As he walked through the house he saw pictures. The man he had killed. Smiling. In the arms of his sister and who appeared to be their parents. In that moment, he almost called Hannibal. Almost. But he forced himself to stare at the framed pictures and make himself aware that he was looking at glass, nothing more. Pictures were always lies. The man had deserved to die.

But had his sister deserved to lose him?

After all, Will knew what it was like to lose someone you love. Beverly, Abigail and, in a way Hannibal.

He stood in the man’s room for a few minutes and felt a strange feeling of pride when he looked around. Then he heard a sob from downstairs and hated himself for it.

*

“So, do you think the killer knew him?” Jack and Will were standing outside the Darmons’ house and in the cool air Will felt like he could finally breathe again.

“It’s hard to say… Could have been someone he knew, could have been a random stranger he pissed off.”

He felt the mask putting itself together again. But it still had cracks. Cracks he knew he couldn’t fix.

“That’s really all I can tell you right now Jack. I have exams to prepare.” Lying felt easier again too.

Minutes later he was in his car, on his way to Hannibal’s house. He hadn’t called but somehow he knew he would be there. Somehow he knew the doctor knew he would be coming.

He waited a few seconds before he knocked on the door and listened to the approaching footsteps.

“We need to talk.” He said before Hannibal had the chance to say anything. Without even looking at the doctor, he walked past him and towards his office. Inside he stopped for a moment. There was always the strange feeling of coming home. The bookshelves, the elegant furniture, the stag figure. It set off a feeling of familiarity, security. He felt Hannibal behind him, stepping closer than necessary and he felt his breath against his neck for a moment before taking a step forward, sitting down on his chair. _His_ chair. Interesting he thought of it like that. Many patients sat in that same chair every day, and many had been before he had even known Hannibal. Yet this was _his_ chair.

“You seem distracted. What happened, Will?” Dr. Lecter’s voice was calm as ever and he sat opposite Will, making it seem like this was just another session, just another conversation although they both knew it wasn’t.

“Jack took me to see Ansgar Darmon’s sister.” Will said monotonous. Hannibal waited if he would add anything further and leaned forward in his chair when he didn’t.

“Do you regret killing him?” he asked, keeping his tone professional as if this was any normal question one might expect during a therapy session.

“Do you regret killing Abigail?”

Dead silence fell upon the room and it seemed like even the clock stopped ticking for a moment.

There it was. This was what this was about, the reason Will was truly here.

Hannibal found himself conflicted. He could lie to the young man. He could tell him anything he liked and manipulate him into believing it. He knew that eventually he would. He could drug him; trigger another seizure.

Or he could tell him the truth. He couldn’t predict what kind of impact that would have on the empath. He couldn’t know if it would destroy what he’d built up. He couldn’t know how he’d react.

 But this was Will. He had to risk it.

The silence was pressing and it seemed like the entire world held back a breath. Hannibal cleared his throat and the clock started ticking again.

“I didn’t kill Abigail Hobbs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what happens next. You don't.  
> Ehehe


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Possible feels.

The silence that followed Hannibal’s words was even more pressing than the one before. Will was glad he was sitting because he felt like his legs had been chipped. His next words came as a suppressed, desperate hiss.

“You’re lying” he brought out with a shaky voice and the silent implication _please don’t let it be a lie._

“I’m not. I tend to keep what I promise.”

Will was panting and he felt tears of relief filling his eyes but he urged them back down since it was still too soon to allow any hope.

“But they found… hair and DNA-“ he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence as the image of an ear flashed up in his mind.

“As they did from Miriam Lass.” Hannibal said with a soft voice and stood to walk towards Will with slow, careful steps.

Will barely noticed as the doctor stopped beside him and placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. He stared off into space and asked blankly

“Where is she?”

Hannibal crouched down and took both of Will’s hands in his. The empath didn’t pull away.

“I don’t know. Somewhere in Europe. Safe from me.” he said. “And you.” he added softly.

“Safe from herself?” Will asked and finally looked up to meet Hannibal’s eyes.

They both knew there was no real answer to that question.

“Abigail cannot escape her past. She can however restore her future.”

“And you helped her.”

The doctor nodded.

“By cutting off her ear?!”

Hannibal sensed new rage rising inside Will as the shock slowly passed.

“Will, I assure you she was in no pain.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” Will’s almost shouted and his stare was accusing and confused.

He seemed so vulnerable.

“Would you have believed me?” The doctor’s voice remained calm.

“No.”

Will withdrew his hands and rose to his feet, feeling the sudden urge to move, to do something and he started pacing around in the office. Hannibal slowly straightened his back and watched the young man. Will stopped momentarily to stare at the stag figure and rubbed a hand over his jaw and cheeks before he kept walking, his lips pursed and his fists tightened. When he reached the ladder he finally came to a stop and extended one arm to support himself on it. Hannibal stepped closer, slightly concerned Will might collapse and when he stood in front of him Will looked up, staring right into his eyes, his face expressionless. Then he surprised them both by doing something he had sworn to himself he never would. Not in front of Hannibal. Not since the day he had pointed his gun at him in Garrett Jacob Hobbs' kitchen. He showed weakness.

The moment was too overwhelming and he couldn’t mask his feelings. He put his arms around Hannibal’s neck and pulled him closer, burying his face in the crook of his neck. The doctor stood still for a moment before he brought up his hands, one to gently press against Will’s lower back and one to cup the back of his head, stroking through the mess of curls calmingly. He felt the young man’s lips moving against his skin as he whispered

“Thank you. Thank you for letting her live.”

Hannibal tugged at Will’s hair gently until he was face to face with his mongoose and stared into the mesmerizing blue ocean that was sometimes wild and restless, waves dashing in a raging storm; and sometimes calm and still, low tide settling in. Now Will’s eyes showed something new. They looked vulnerable, innocent and hurt. He seemed so much younger, almost childlike as he looked up at him, his arms still around his neck, his eyes returning the stare.

Hannibal hadn’t planned on kissing Will now, but the empath initiated the kiss himself, leaning in and pressing burning lips to cool ones; and Hannibal couldn’t deny him the intimacy as he felt the younger man’s tongue nudging against his lower lip. He moved his hands to Will’s hips and took a slow step forward, directing the other with his back against the ladder, not once breaking the kiss.

Suddenly a hint of tenderness rose inside him. A tenderness he hadn’t felt in decades, a tenderness he didn’t think he was still capable of feeling. A memory hit him and caught him off guard. A little girl who once stared up at him with the same childlike faith Will had just had in his eyes.

The feeling angered him. He shoved Will away as gentle as his rage allowed him and excused himself. When he left the office with quick steps he was well aware how rude it had been but he had to regain control. He couldn’t bear to be feeling that kind of tenderness because it had ended in failure. He had failed Mischa. He couldn’t fail Will.

 

 

Will gazed after the doctor startled. He took the few steps to his chair and collapsed with a soft sigh. The young man closed his eyes, trying to get ahead of his thoughts. Hannibal hadn’t killed Abigail. It was so tempting, so freeing, so wonderful to believe it. Could he believe him? Could he trust the Chesapeake Ripper? Was the man who had just stormed out like that really the same monster that had caused so much pain? He had seen something in his eyes, he had seen Hannibal’s mask crack just a little bit and the man had seemed…broken. Will remembered the Ripper’s profile; bits and pieces that made so much sense and seemed to fit so perfectly now, but he also remembered something else. A part of the profile he hadn’t considered since he had found out the truth.

Traumatic childhood.

What had happened to him? What had created the monster; or at least fed it?

Will knew he couldn’t ask Hannibal about it, he had seen the expression on his face just now and that alone made him sure he would probably never know. Will sucked his lower lip into his mouth. Wasn’t there once a plan to get into Lecter’s head? To manipulate him just as much as he had him? Then why had he felt a genuine pinch in his chest upon seeing Hannibal so broken? And why was there, next to the relief that Abigail was alive, the equal amount of relief that Hannibal hadn’t killed her; that he had a reason less to hate him? A reason less to feel guilty about _not_ hating him.

He stood up to look for Hannibal and found him in the living room, on the same couch they’d been lying on less than 24 hours earlier. When Will entered the doctor lifted his chin up and Will saw that he had restored the mask completely, well enough that it immediately seemed like an impossible imagination that it had ever cracked. Will stopped and stood in the doorframe, his gaze riveted on the floor. Neither of them said anything for a while until Will cleared his throat.

“May I stay the night?”

“You may.”

*

Will woke up at the sound of a telephone and when he slowly came around he heard Hannibal’s hushed voice talking to someone. The man’s arm was draped around Will’s waist and the next moment it tightened and he felt Hannibal’s body pressing against his back. There was a warm exhale against his neck and the doctor murmured

“I apologize Will, I did not mean to wake you up.”

“Who was that?” Will asked without turning around. He shuddered when warm lips were pressed between his shoulder blades.

Hannibal hesitated for a moment before he answered:

“Jack. It seems you have…an admirer.” The last words came with suppressed rage and Will wondered if it might have been jealousy. He finally turned around in Hannibal’s arm and faced him. He was lying closer that he had anticipated.

Nothing had happened. They didn’t even kiss again after what had occurred in the office. Hannibal had just been there, holding him, anchoring him. 

“What do you mean?”

“Freddie Lounds has been killed.”

Will let the words sink in. They didn’t make sense. If this was a normal case, they would. It would make sense; the killer would come after her once he'd read her article. But the killer was right here, in the arms of another killer.

“You have a copycat, Will.”

This time he didn’t just hear the furious bite, he saw it in Hannibal’s eyes. Will swallowed and gave himself some time to think about what the other had just said. A copycat. While he felt angry for someone claiming to be him, taking what is his, _stealing his identity,_ he also felt strangely flattered. Will wondered if this was what Hannibal had felt like with Gideon.

“Does Jack want me to come in?”

Hannibal nodded and stroked his hand up Will’s back soothingly. Will closed his eyes and shifted slightly closer.

“You too?” He felt Hannibal’s smile on his lips as the doctor leaned forward and kissed him gently.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’…” Will muttered when the kiss was broken, his eyes still closed. A soft fingertip ran over his lower lip, lingering on the healing split for a moment, then the bed shifted and the heat of Hannibal’s body was gone.

“Get dressed, Will. Jack is waiting for us.”

Will opened his eyes and looked at Hannibal curiously.

“What did you tell him?”

“That you still haven’t found your phone and that I would pick you up from Wolf Trap.”

“Was it always that easy for you? Lying?”

Hannibal froze for a moment and threw a cold, warning stare at Will, but the young man didn’t feel intimidated.

“I was just thinking… It must be lonely…”

Hannibal turned around and went to walk out of the room.

“I told you to get dressed.”

There it was again. The commanding tone. Before Will could reply Hannibal had left the room and the empath didn’t have much of a choice other than to obey.

 

And the shadowman was watching them, watching as they exited Hannibal’s house, watching as they got into his car, watching as they drove away to see his exhibition. Watching an artist and a predator.

The shadowman was both, and as an artist he knew a masterpiece when he saw one. As a predator he knew how to claim it.


	8. Chapter 8

Will stared at her lifeless body. Her red locks were damp with even redder blood. She was lying on white sheets splattered with crimson. Her lips were gone. Torn from her face. Her bare teeth exposed as if she was fletching them. She was clutching at her detached lips, her left arm upstretched above her head, her hips tilted to the right and her face staring up at her hand. A posture often used in paintings to symbolize truth. Her abdomen was wide open and her ribs were placed around her body. Like a frame. Will closed his eyes.

_I am smart. I know you are protected, but I can outsmart the FBI. I can outsmart anyone. I wait for you in the bedroom, the most intimate room, to show you what power I have. Your fear amuses me, even more so that you try to hide it. I could drug you but I am strong enough to control you. I want you to put up a fight, to try to scream, try to run. I cut off your lips while you are still alive so no lie can ever leave your mouth again. You gag on your blood. I strangle you. You are nothing more than paint now. I paint truth, as a warning for anyone who thinks about lying, about degrading art like you did. I paint truth to show them I care. To be recognized. To show myself. This is my design._

“It wasn’t the same killer.” Will said upon opening his eyes. That much he had known before, but Jack was standing behind him, listening eagerly.

“A copycat?”

“No. Not a copycat. A... rectification. What she wrote upset him because he admires our killer.” Will couldn’t say these words without feeling a certain pride. Of course he kept it from his face but the darkening of Hannibal’s eyes showed him he had picked it up anyway. Still, he couldn’t help it. Although he had been angry at the presumed copycat before, now he felt in awe about his efforts. He had killed Freddie Lounds for _him_ alone. But there was also something unsettling about the crime scene. He hadn’t done it out of pure generosity, he wanted something. He wanted Will to be in his debt. He wanted Will at his mercy. There was something extremely possessive about the kill.

What was it with psychopaths trying to own him???

*

“Fell again?” Zeller asked warily and pointed at Will’s bounded hand. He was the first one to mention it. Hannibal had thrown it one disapproving look but so far hadn’t commented on it. Will looked up and flicked his tongue. He was awfully aware of Hannibal standing behind him, a hint closer than what would be considered normal yet still far enough to go unnoticed.

“Just too much whiskey…” he said in a sudden fit of honesty. Zeller raised his eyebrows.

“I’m not gonna read into how _that_ got your hand screwed up.”

“Good, because we have two killers on the loose and you have a job to do!” Jack’s sharp voice cut through the room as he entered the morgue. Zeller winced and quickly said:

“The cause of death was strangulation, same as Darmon.-”

“Yet here there were no organs missing. The butchering was done post-mortem, but her lips were removed while she was still alive.” Price interrupted. 

“I knew that too.” Zeller snapped defensively. It earned him an amused look from Jimmy and a death stare from Jack.

“Will, you said this was a rectification. Whom was it meant for?” Hannibal asked, his eyes piercing through Will as he answered without turning around.

“I’m not sure. Definitely for Ms. Lounds’ readership, maybe for the FBI.”  -And for me you bastard, you know that- his mind added. Was Hannibal provoking him? Warning him? He knew the doctor could see that he was intrigued by the copycat and he certainly didn’t like it. Will thought about seeing how far he could push and what would happen when Hannibal snapped but he decided against it. Instead he waited until Jack was distracted by Zeller’s and Price’s discussion over the necessity of lips in order to speak, and turned around to lock eyes with Hannibal. He slowly ran his tongue over the wound on his lower lip.

_Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten. I am your masterpiece. Yours._  

Hannibal’s eyes darkened again and this time it wasn’t rage. Will turned back to the others, unsure of what he might have done if he had looked any longer. He swallowed hard and felt Hannibal's smile behind his back. He was almost certain the doctor could smell his arousal.

“Do you think this killer knows Darmon’s killer?” He was glad for Jack’s question; his thoughts had been taking a dangerous direction…

“Not personally. He could however admire him from afar.” Will answered without really realizing what he was saying.

 

 

When Jack dismissed them, they didn’t go back to Hannibal’s car. Instead they started walking. Will enjoyed the chilling breeze. It has always helped him clear his thoughts. They reached a bridge and Will stopped at the middle, leaning over the railing and staring off into space. Hannibal stood next to him, always watching him, always just a footstep away.

“Will, you said the killer might admire you from afar.”

Will looked up and over his shoulder to meet Hannibal’s eyes.

“Yes?”

He didn’t understand the slight hint of concern, anger and possessiveness in the doctor’s voice.

Hannibal sighed and took a step closer.

“Do you think he might be watching you?”

Finally it dawned on him. Of course. It made sense. The crime scene was so personal, so intimate. He didn’t feel particularly watched but now that Hannibal had mentioned it, he felt a cold shiver crawling down his spine.  

“You mean like- stalking me?”

Will straightened his back and turned to look at Hannibal uncertain.

“I think we have to consider it a possibility. Don’t you?”

Will pursed his lips and nodded. It was more than a possibility. It was a definite likeliness.

“We’ll handle it.” he simply answered, even though he was feeling a little uneasy.

They were still on the bridge and being fully exposed to the wind Will was slowly getting cold. That changed in a heartbeat when Hannibal ended the space between them with two quick steps. He wrapped his arms around Will’s waist and pressed him against the railing. Then his mouth covered Will’s and the younger man wondered how Hannibal’s lips could be so incredibly wonderfully warm. Maybe even the cold didn’t dare to mess with him. The warmth quickly transferred to his own lips as Hannibal’s were moving against them, rubbing their warmth into Will’s. The young man left out a soft sigh that lost its sound somewhere between their tongues. In the distance cars were driving down the highway. From there they must have looked just like a normal couple kissing. They weren’t. Those were too simple terms, applicable to the common crowd. They weren’t normal. In fact, their relationship was the opposite of normal, if one had ever seen it. They weren’t a couple. They were predator and more than willing prey. They weren’t kissing. They were making the bond between them grow, sharing the intimacy their minds had already reached on a physical level.

When Hannibal pulled back Will was panting and all feeling of coldness was gone.

“Why? Are you jealous?” he breathed. He knew better than to provoke Hannibal but in the heat of the moment he couldn’t keep it down.

Hannibal’s expression wasn’t readable as his hand wrapped around Will’s throat, not tight enough to cut off air supply completely but he easily could have. His thumb wandered up over his chin and pressed hard against the split in his lip.

“Would there be reason to be?”

His voice was calm but his eyes betrayed the fire inside. Will swallowed down a gag and shook his head. The next second he was released and Hannibal straightened his coat like nothing had happened. 

“The dinner party will be held on Friday.” He announced as if Will didn’t have any choice. He probably didn’t anyway.

“I assume you have nothing to wear?”

Will shook his head again. He had two suits and even if they should still fit him, they were far below Hannibal’s standards.

*

The lights were dim and the furniture heavy and royal. Will felt uncomfortable and completely out of place as Hannibal moved around the store with grace. He knew there wouldn’t be a point to arguing, none if this was his decision; neither the dinner nor the fact that they were surrounded by suits that looked like they cost twice as much as his house.

“If he’s watching he could try to contact me in some way.” Will remarked and watched how Hannibal picked out a dark blue suit and studied it for a moment before putting it back to the rack. The man glanced at him and hummed his agreement before returning his attention to the suits. He seemed completely in his element. Well, not _completely._ Will wondered what it would be like to watch him kill.

“Staring is rather rude, Will.” The doctor said with a mild smile. Will averted his eyes to look at the suit Hannibal was holding instead. It looked a little less like something a duke from Transylvania would wear, so that was a start. Hannibal motioned for him to come closer and Will stood up with a wary look on his face. When he stopped a good three steps from Hannibal, the man sighed and caught his wrist to pull him closer. He didn’t let go when he was pressing the suit against Will’s chest, his eyes testing and observing. The suit seemed to have passed the test, as his hand wandered up his arm to cup his elbow and lead him towards the changing rooms.

“Try it on.”

It was another command, but to Will’s surprise he actually kind of liked the suit. It was smooth and black with grey buttons and cuffs. When he closed the curtain behind him he took a closer look and froze. Something was stitched into the jacket with a shiny silver thread, just above the chest pocket. Just so it would be directly over the heart.

Antlers.

He stared for a moment longer before putting the suit on. It felt strange and foreign but it wasn’t uncomfortable. When he buttoned the jacket up he finally allowed himself to look up at the mirror. He liked what he saw, even though he didn’t look like himself. On the other hand, he didn’t really know who he was anymore.

Will stepped out of the cubicle, presenting himself to Hannibal, who was patiently waiting in the almost empty store. The doctor’s eyes seemed to sparkle when he looked Will over and he took a step closer. Will pursed his lips and tensed, his shoulders rolling back as Hannibal reached out to adjust the collar carefully. He felt the weight the antlers on his chest seemed to have, and it  intensified as Hannibal ran his fingertips over the embroidery.

“You picked this one for a reason.” Will stated. The fingertips pressed down against his chest briefly, a palm was brushing his nipple through the fabric. Hannibal lifted his chin to find Will’s eyes.

“It brings out your eyes.” he replied, ignoring the implication of the antlers whose pattern he was still tracing with his fingers.

When he rested his other hand on Will’s hip, the younger man could see a shop assistant eyeing them warily. He wondered if Hannibal would kill her if she’d say anything. He wondered if _he_ would kill her. She was still staring at them and Will was getting uncomfortable so he tried to focus on Hannibal instead, who was currently straightening Will’s suit and scanning the store for a fitting tie.

“So when he does contact me…” Will started, suddenly remembering their former topic.

“Will. Stop thinking about it. When he does contact you we will have time to discuss it _then_.” Hannibal answered in a stoic voice.

Will nodded and inhaled deeply when Hannibal leaned in to put a light grey tie around his neck. When he had put on the suit before he had noticed purple sucking marks on his neck and collarbone, and going by Hannibal’s pleased hum he had seen them too now. The doctor took a step back to look at Will satisfied. He looked breathtaking, even Will had to admit the suit flattered him when Hannibal gently turned him around to face the mirror, his hands on Will’s hips. Will looked at himself for a moment then found Hannibal’s eyes in the reflection. He returned Will’s gaze expectantly. Will pursed his lips and looked back at himself before muttering

“I like it.”

“I knew you would.”

There was the ghost of a kiss against his pulse point and then Hannibal stepped back and headed towards the counter. Will threw another wary look at his reflection. He couldn’t quite focus; ever since Hannibal had mentioned the copycat might be watching him Will couldn't help feeling slightly on edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, there are enough fictions about Hanni buying Will a suit already, but it's one of my favorite head canons so idc. 
> 
> Btw, I killed Freddie before Naka-Choko aired.   
> What do you guys think, is she really dead on the show??


	9. Chapter 9

_Benjamin, don’t touch the paintings._

The shadowman was standing on the same bridge Hannibal and Will had been not so long ago. Standing on the exact spot where they had kissed. He didn’t feel affected by that. Will Graham was a masterpiece; he had just found the wrong frame. But he would show him. Show him where he belonged. He was an artist and a predator. He would find a way. Will Graham would soon be his. Eternally.

_Benjamin, don’t touch the paintings._

**_*_ **

Will regretted saying yes, more than anything, but when Zeller had invited him to join him, Price and Miriam for a few drinks he felt overwhelmed and touched by the sudden friendliness. Ever since Brian had apologized to him they’d been getting along a lot better than ever before. He was really putting an effort into keeping a warm and nice contact with Will, and while the empath had seen him as a coworker in the past, he was starting to see him as a friend now, which was extremely rare. With Beverly dead and Alana out of reach he didn’t really have any “friends” anymore. He had visited Peter in the mental institution a few times but their friendship could hardly be considered normal and Will felt like he needed something normal in his life. A healthy, steady and usual friendship. Drinking buddies, like normal people had.

He was anything but used to being included and it felt strange that Zeller genuinely wanted him to join them but at the same time it made him happy. He was glad for the invitation, his only other options to spend the evening were to sit on his porch alone with yet another glass of whiskey or to drive back to Hannibal’s house after he had bought the suit for him. Neither sounded really welcoming to Will; if he’d gone home his thoughts would have started to wander again and if he’d gone with Hannibal something that Will was not sure he was ready to happen might have happened. All he desperately needed was a distraction, and an evening with colleagues, with _friends_ gave him just that opportunity.

But now, sitting in a rather crowded bar, he regretted it tremendously. The amount of people made him feel anxious, even more so that he received a lot of once-overs; he was an attractive man after all. Miriam noticed his uneasiness and laughed.

“Not a fan of attention, huh? I bet Zeller would love to trade places with you, that blonde bartender is totally checking _you_ out.” the young woman said lightly and Will knew she did it to diffuse his tension. He smiled at her thankfully when Zeller huffed insulted and countered

“She’s clearly looking at _me._ ”

In that moment the bartender winked at Will and Price and Miriam burst out laughing at Zeller’s frown.

“Alright, touché, Team Graham.” he said sarcastically and took a drink.

“Don’t worry, if I’d speak to her for more than ten minutes she’d probably run screaming.” Will said with the hint of a grin. He was starting to feel oddly comfortable and the beer helped him relax as much as the company of the others, which he remarked he really appreciated. It was unusual for him to be in a social situation like this since he normally avoided them like the devil, but the warm atmosphere the three of them were eager to provide made it enjoyable for him too.

They all had a lot of shared burdens and he could feel how that bonded them. It felt good to sit with people who had seen and experienced terrible things like he had. People who understood.

“Who knows? Maybe she’s a fan of murders, dogs and boat motors.” Zeller retorted.

“To be honest, I think she recognized Will. The affection probably comes from the fact that he’s close to being a celebrity.” Price remarked.

“Right, you’re famous Will! Go get her!” Miriam said with a somewhat bitter grin. She was pretty well known too but neither being wrongly imprisoned nor being held captive by a serial killer was the kind of fame one could desire.

About half an hour later Brian was eagerly chatting with a young brunette at the bar. He had intended to get another round when she had walked up to him and now Jimmy, Will and Miriam were watching how she was actively flirting with him.

“She probably just doesn’t want to pay for her own drink…” Price mumbled.

“Jealous, Jimmy?” Miriam asked with a smirk and Will had a feeling she was not talking about the woman.

Jimmy shook his head and tried to hide his smile.

“You watch your mouth young lady!” he huffed amused. In that moment the brunette gasped and hurried out with a pale face. Zeller came back to the table contritely.

“Aw, Zee screwed up.” Miriam teased and Price looked at him expectantly.

“What did you say to her??”

Zeller sighed.

“Well she told me she was a riding instructor so I told her about the last time I saw a horse…”

He received a face-palm from Price and an involuntary laugh from Will. He hadn’t thought it possible he could ever _laugh_ about anything that had happened in that stable. Miriam shook her head and remarked

“Poor girl, I guess her night’s over.”

She had followed the case closely. Although she was taking things slow at the moment, she was still interested in working for the FBI.

Miriam Lass wasn’t the kind of person to sit around and feel terrible about something that couldn’t be changed. Self-pity was alien to her. The Chesapeake Ripper had stolen two years of her life; she was not going to let him steal any more.

Suddenly a girl behind Will, probably drunk, stumbled and fell. As she grabbed Will’s shirt to steady herself out of reflex, the first two buttons popped. The girl stood up and apologized hastily but he damage was already done; his collarbone, strewn with purple bruises and bite marks, was visible and even though he quickly readjusted his shirt they had all seen it. Zeller whistled through his teeth.

“Well, look at you, Romeo.”

Price grinned and remarked:

“Looks like Team Graham has already scored a home-run…”

“Tell us, who did that to you? And don’t say you ‘fell’, I know a hickey when I see one!” Zeller said with a wide smirk.

Will swallowed and stared at the table. It had been a bad idea to come here and right now he would very much prefer his porch. Miriam tapped her fingertips against her glass and kicked Zeller underneath the table.

“Come on guys, let him be! We don’t ask _you_ about your bed stories either!”

Zeller leaned back and lifted both arms up, as an open invitation.

“I’d be happy to share!” he retorted with a smug smile. Miriam rolled her eyes at him and tried to change the topic.

“Tell me about your case. You found a copycat?”

Will winced. He had just started to feel… almost normal. He should have known fate did not have that in order for him. Nothing about his life was normal. He had started to feel at ease, to open up, but now it was time to put on a mask again. To remember what he was and why; because he had actually been able to forget. At least for a bit.

“It’s not so much a copycat as a… favor. Whoever killed Freddie Lounds didn’t try to be like the other killer, they wanted to step up for the other killer. To make a point.”

“How noble. Point made I guess. Mess with my killer-buddies and I mess with you.” Miriam muttered sarcastically. Will remembered what he and Hannibal had been talking about before and had to suppress a shiver while saying:

“I don’t think they actually know each other. The copycat might be watching the other one though…”

“It’s a creeper creeping on another creeper.” Zeller summarized and frowned.

“Can we quit the murder-talk now?”

Will was the first one to nod and Price went to get another round. When Miriam and Zeller started discussing some sports event he had time to quickly check his phone. He had a missed call from Hannibal and though his fingers were itching to call back immediately he put the phone into his pocket and tried not to think of Hannibal.

As if Zeller was a mind-reader, he said just in that moment:

“I haven’t given up on finding out who has a preference for unstable dog freaks yet.”

He motioned at Will’s collarbone that was half visible again. Will quickly covered it up. He was pretty sure he should have been insulted but he also knew that Zeller’s tongue was faster than his brain and he hadn’t actually intended to offend him.

“You can’t seriously think I’m going to tell you.” Will said dryly and took the drink Price had just brought.

“Tell him what?” he asked curiously. Zeller took a gulp from his beer and answered:

“Who the Graham-lover is.”

Will pursed his lips and Miriam sighed annoyed as Price chuckled and said:

“Careful Will, he’s gonna keep using that term until you tell him.”

 

The evening passed by quickly and apart from the brief “murder-talk” and the continued teasing over his bruises Will was actually enjoying himself. It was almost 2am as he left the bar. They had tried to convince him to stay longer but he had already drunk too much and since he definitely would have to take a taxi home, he wanted to avoid passing out on the backseat.

He knew as soon as he’d be out of sight they were going to start talking about his affair and speculate who the “Graham-lover” was. He assumed that none of them thought Will was a person who would be able to have a relationship of any kind and they were probably right, but that made it all the more interesting for them. Still, they wouldn't even come close to guessing the truth, so Will wasn’t really worried when he turned around at the door and saw them whispering eagerly already.

When he pulled out his phone to call a taxi he remembered the missed call from Hannibal. He looked at his watch thoughtfully. 01:56am.

 –Screw it.- he thought. Maybe it was the alcohol and he was making poor decisions once again, but it was late, he was tired and he didn’t really want to have to take a taxi back to Wolf Trap. Hannibal’s house wasn’t even that far away from the bar and since Will knew the doctor had an unusual sleeping schedule anyway he started dialing his number.

A few seconds before Hannibal answered the phone, Will felt someone grabbing his arm and the next moment a cloth smelling like chloroform was pressed over his mouth and nose. He tried to fend the hand off but he was already getting weaker and his vision blurred. He managed to kick whoever was standing behind him somewhere below the knee and heard a silent curse before the world turned black. Someone was bending over him but through his closing eyelashes Will saw nothing more than a shadow.

A shadowman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger. *is not sorry at all*  
> Also, I LOVE THE ZELLHAM BROMANCE, can you tell? xD Man, ever since that apology scene I hope Bryan's gonna make more out of it... Will deserves a normal friend. Well, as normal as someone who cuts open dead people for a living can be.


	10. Chapter 10

The first thing Will noticed upon waking up was that the split in his lip was bleeding again. It must have reopened due to the rough treatment with the handkerchief.

The handkerchief. Chloroform. The shadowman.

Slowly it all came back to him and the throbbing pain in his lip helped him clear his thoughts. It was proof that, even if he wasn’t here, Hannibal grounded him. Will forced himself to bite down on the split so that it hurt even more. He needed the pain, he needed to remember that Hannibal was there; deep inside his mind, whatever was going to happen.

The bitter taste of copper covered his tongue. His hands were tied together behind his back and the ropes were tight enough to bruise his flesh. He realized he was crouching on the floor. His feet were tied together too, and the restraints were almost cutting off his blood circulation. He knew if he’d try to struggle, if he’d move at all, they’d just cut deeper in. Will swallowed heavily and noticed something was strangling him. He could hardly move his head. A short, taut chain led from a pillar behind him to the back of his neck, where it connected with whatever was wrapped around his throat. He could breathe, but he felt the material pressing against his skin with every swallow.

-A collar- He realized.

Like a dog on a leash.

His vision was still blurry but it started getting clearer. From what he saw he was in a cabin of some sort and the memory of Garrett Jacob Hobb’s cabin, that immediately came to mind, didn’t really help the slight panic he was starting to feel. At least there were no antlers here.

Instead there were paintings. A lot of them. Grotesque, dark, gory paintings. Dead, empty eyes, bleeding souls and dancing devils with spears pierced through flesh and bone were staring down at him. Rivers of tears cried by a naked, blindfolded woman, oceans of blood bled by slender pale children, tearing the flesh off each other’s bones with bare teeth.

There were shelves and tables stuffed with “sculptures” that Will could only assume were made of human bones. He wondered if the ink used to paint the pictures was blood, when he suddenly froze.

Someone else had entered the room. Will hadn’t heard a door but he felt the other’s presence behind him and he suppressed a shiver.

“Where am I?” His voice was hoarse and a little gush of blood left his mouth as he spoke.

“In my museum. Do you like it?”

The person sounded younger than he had expected. The way he said museum sounded like a proud child, but the question that had followed had had an unspoken threat in it and Will knew he would have to play along and answer as the man pleased.

“Very much.” He brought out. “Did you paint all these yourself?” He had to find out what he was dealing with, he had to somehow win the man’s trust.

“I painted none of these. Father did. I’m not allowed to touch them. ” The man answered and finally stepped forward so Will could take a look at him.

He was tall and slim, his cheekbones shrunken and his eye sockets hollow with tiny eyeballs loosely inside. Will thought they might fall out any second. He had a strange, absent grin and seemed to look through Will, rather than at him. His face and arms were covered in scars. The profile Will had started putting together became more detailed. Abusive father. Possible schizophrenic. Isolated.

“Father is always watching.” He added and motioned at a chair in a corner Will hadn’t noticed before. A half rotten skeleton was sitting on it, with a few decayed remains of flesh clinging to the bones. Will swallowed and felt the collar pressing against his skin. He looked around and tried to take the room in fully. There were several skulls on a table in a corner.

“How did…Father make these?” he asked and motioned at the sculptures, as far as his restraints allowed him. The man looked at him with glassy eyes.

“He helped them become beautiful.” he answered and let his eyes wander over the paintings and the sculptures. Then he shook his head in distaste.

“He never picked the right ones. He never saw a masterpiece. Father isn’t an artist. But I am.”

While the man was speaking his face had turned defiant and his voice sulky, resembling a truculent child. Will swallowed another load of salvia and blood before asking

“What’s your name?”

“My father calls me Benjamin.”

Will noticed the odd way of phrasing and immediately asked

“And what do you call yourself?”

The man looked down at him as if he had answered an important question right and a stoic smile pulled the corners of his lips up while is eyes remained cold, unreadable.

“Maestro.”

 

*

Six hours. Six hours since Will had called him. Hannibal had heard that something had happened. He didn’t know what but when he had called back about 30 times and Will didn’t answer he got the idea it couldn’t have been good.

He got to him.

The copycat got to Will. Possibly hurt him.

No one took Hannibal Lecter’s property. No one hurt Will and got away with it. No one. While his subconscious was already vividly making dinner plans for the shadowman, the rest of his mind turned and twisted with anger, concern and guilt. He shouldn’t have let Will go to that bar. He had known it was a bad idea. He should have never let the man out of his sight when he knew there might have been someone watching. He should have protected him.

He couldn’t fail Will.

In that moment his phone rang and when he saw Jack’s name on the display he controlled his emotions and forced himself to a calm, steady voice as he answered.

“Good morning, Jack.”

“Dr. Lecter, I’ve been trying to reach Will, we need him. You don’t happen to know where he is?”

If only, Jack. If only.

“Will wasn’t feeling well so I suggested a change of air might be beneficial.”

“Meaning?” Jack sounded distressed. They had probably found another body.

“He went fishing. I’m afraid I’m not aware of his current location. I will call you as soon as I am.”

“Well until he’s back could you maybe-“

“No. I’m sorry Jack, but my schedule does not allow any interruptions today.” Hannibal said before Jack had the chance to finish his sentence. Rude, but these were desperate times.

He knew he should tell Jack, he knew Will had been abducted by a killer and he knew he should have reported him missing the minute the strange phone call had ended. He hadn’t.

If he was right and Will was in the captivity of the copycat, unpleasant questions would follow. They had profiled the copycat might take action and contact the other killer. That he might be watching. If it would turn out that he had been watching _Will_ suspicions would be easily raised. Given the previous events and Will’s reputation it wouldn’t take long for someone to connect the dots and that would not only expose Will, it would expose Hannibal too. A risk he simply couldn’t take. He couldn’t risk losing everything he had worked for so long and so hard. Not now that his plan was finally evolving.

Not now that he truly started feeling.

He knew he could find Will on his own. He knew he could save him. He just needed some time. Time he hoped to God he had.

A voice in the back of his head kept whispering that Will might already be dead. Hannibal felt his rage and his desperation growing with every second.

He couldn’t lose Will.

The doctor studied the pictures from Lounds’ murder the hundredth time, trying to find something they might have missed, trying to find just a hint pointing in the right direction. A direction. That’s all he needed.

Just when he was about to rip the file apart out of frustration there was a knock on his door. He quickly masked his distress as good as he could and was surprised when he found Alana at his front door.

He didn’t have time for this now. While Will had been unconscious in his bed he had called her to end their affair. It had been easier than he had anticipated. He knew she had already been questioning their relationship and he hadn’t felt obligated to specify a reason. She hadn’t asked for one. He knew she was going to draw her assumptions anyway; it was in her nature. They hadn’t spoken since, which he partially regretted; he respected Alana and found she was one of the less irritating people he had to deal with every day. She was a great psychiatrist and generally very smart and Hannibal had always rather enjoyed her company but right now he felt like ripping her apart just like he had wanted to rip the file apart. Will was missing and now, of all times _, now_ she came. He couldn’t waste any time. Will could already be dead.

“Hannibal, I think we should talk.” she began and walked past him without invitation. He could have just slammed the door before she’d had the chance to come in.

Could have. Should have. Shouldn’t have.

“Alana, I can’t say I was expecting you to visit.” he said, desperate to keep up appearances and trying to figure something out. He had to find Will.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” she asked and looked at the several files on the desk with furrowed brows.

“Nothing in particular. I was just…passing the time.” he forced himself to say.

“Is that the Lounds-case?”  She was standing at the desk and stared looking through a file.

He needed her to leave. He needed to find Will.

Will could already be dead.

Her eyes caught his schedule.

_7:30pm- Will Graham_

She raised her eyebrows and tapped her fingertips at the paper.

“I still think this is a bad idea.”

“I want to help Will fix what has broken inside him. There was a time you would have done more than approve of that.” He knew she still cared about him. Her sad frown proved he was right.

“That was before he tried to kill you. All the darkness that was thrown at him found a way inside his head. There’s no undoing what happened.” she mumbled and put the file down.

“We have to be able to forgive others. Otherwise we can never have peace with ourselves.”

“Did you forgive Will?”

“I did.” He paused and tried to remember everything Will had said about the copycat. He had been in his head, maybe something was hidden between the lines, something they both hadn’t realized at the time. “Maybe you should too.”

“I don’t know if I can. Not after everything he’s done to you.”

“He thought I was a killer.”

“Are you sure you’re not using that as an excuse to feel better about forgiving him?” she asked softly.

“If I felt bad about forgiving him I wouldn’t have done it.” A rectification.  Not a copycat, a rectification.

“I don’t know… It just seems wrong.” She was chewing on her lower lip thoughtfully and Hannibal just wished she would finally leave.

Will could already be dead.

She furrowed her brows upon noticing a scratch in the surface of the desk.

“What happened here?”

Hannibal lifted his chin up and remembered his last appointment yesterday.

“I told a patient of mine she had to face her problems if she wanted to get better. She did not agree.”

Alana chuckled and ran her finger over the scratch.

“Let me guess, anger management issues?”

Hannibal nodded. A rectification for whom?

“Well, everyone’s a critic.” Alana added with an amused smile.

Critics.

Not just for the FBI, or Freddie Lounds or Will. The kill was intended for critics. Critics of his art. The copycat was an actual artist. Not just in the darker sense of the word. A failed painter or sculptor maybe. There it was. His direction. Now he just needed to start running.

“Alana, I must apologize, but I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone our talk. There is something I need to do.”

She looked at him doubtfully, probably considering if this was just an excuse to avoid her. Whatever the outcome of her thoughts, she nodded understandingly and said her good bye. As soon as the door closed behind her Hannibal turned on his tablet. He had a direction. He was going to find him.

Will could already be dead.


	11. Chapter 11

Will didn’t know how long he’d been there, crouching on the floor, unable to move. He could barely feel his legs and it felt like the collar tightened with every breath he took. After rearranging some tools on the table, Benjamin turned to him with his strange, frozen smile.

“Father isn’t an artist. But he’s a good sculptor. He tells me everything he knows.” The man said and threw an almost _adoring_ look at the skeleton. Will swallowed. His throat hurt, the collar was definitely too tight. Breathing got harder and harder.

“Are you going to turn me into a sculpture?” he asked and was surprised that the anxiousness he felt didn’t seep through his voice.

“You already are a sculpture. You are perfect. Inside and out. But you need to be preserved. You need to be perfect-“ the man paused and crouched down in front of Will to face him on the same level and breathed “- _eternally._ ”

Will preferred not to ask how Benjamin intended to “preserve” him. He couldn’t panic now. He had to focus. The profiler bit down on his sore lip and listened for Hannibal’s voice in his head.

“Do you live alone, Benjamin?”

The killer’s smile faded and turned into a terrifying, crooked frown for a moment.

“Mother was a whore. He just made her beautiful. He made her worthy. But she wasn’t a masterpiece. Not a masterpiece.”

Lost his mother at a young age. Stayed with his father. Possibly battered person syndrome.

Killed his father. Kept the body. Remorse. Possibly BPD.

“Does Father still talk to you?”

The man lifted his chin up and stared at the skeleton with admiring, glassy eyes.

“Of course. Father would never leave me.”

Delusional. Potential dissociative disorders.

“Is Father talking now?”

“Yes.”

“What is he saying?”

Benjamin paused for a moment and seemed to listen. Then he smiled.

“That I did well. He’s proud of me. You’re a masterpiece.”

Had the words once felt comforting, reassuring and beautiful when they had come from Hannibal’s mouth, now they sounded like death.

Will’s death.

Was this it? Was he going to die here?

Benjamin left the room without another word and Will stared at the chair in the corner.

“Great son you have there.”

*

The sun had set hours ago. Hannibal hadn’t slept since Will had called him. He had spent the entire day and night looking, searching, stalking. But the predator was blinded by rage. He needed to exclude his emotions from his hunt. He needed to focus, not on Will but on his suspects, on his prey. Seventeen failed painters fit the geographical profile. Ten sculptors.

14 out of those fit the psychological profile. Most artists would. He had needed to narrow it down. Made phone calls. Read articles. Followed some of them. Four were left on his list.

Will might already be dead.

He faintly remembered the feeling he had had when he had thought Tobias Budge had killed Will. The piercing hollow emptiness.

 But this was worse. When he had sent Will to Budge it had been a test. A test he knew Will could pass. He had known what Will was dealing with. He had been in control.

He wasn’t in control now. He had no idea what Will was dealing with. If he was hurt. If he was even still alive.

Four people were left. If the copycat wasn’t among them he would have nothing left to go on. He would lose his direction. It was past 1a.m. Hannibal wasn’t tired. He rarely needed sleep anyway and the only thought on his mind was finding Will.

-Joseph Pierre

-Hunter Finch

-Benjamin Ward

-Phillip Jones

Four people and no time. Will might already be dead.

*

This was it. The needle was in Will’s arm, the clear fluid mingling with his blood. It wouldn’t be long now. It made sense that Benjamin would use morphine. He needed Will’s body whole. Will was his design. He felt his muscles stir and cramp, his breath slow and his limbs getting heavier.

It felt wrong. His story wasn’t complete yet. It couldn’t just end here. He wasn’t finished. There was too much he would leave behind, he would leave undone, he would leave unsaid. What would happen to his dogs? Would Alana take them?

Alana. She had never forgiven him. And now he would die. And she would never forgive herself.

But maybe this was what he deserved. He had given into his instincts. And this was his punishment. This was the reckoning for Berura Darmon. This was what you get for being a monster.

Somewhere Abigail was wandering the streets of Europe. Maybe she would read what had happened to him online. Would she see pictures?

Would Zeller and Price examine his body, like they had Beverly’s?

Would Jack stand here and profile his killer?

Would Hannibal?

Would Hannibal go after Benjamin? Would he want revenge? Or would this just be a regrettable event to interfere with his plans? 

Did Hannibal really care for him?

He would never find out. He would never know what could have been.

Maybe something from above wanted to give him another chance, maybe something from beneath didn’t want him to die yet; but whatever it was, it made the needle slip out of his arm halfway. He was guessing it hadn’t been inserted properly. Benjamin seemed to think it was the unfavorable angle of his arms and since Will looked like he was already too weak to be a threat of any kind he opened the restraints and pulled Will’s hands in front of the profiler’s body, quickly retying them. When he bent down to shove the needle back in, Will took his shot. He threw his arms over the man’s head and around his neck. The needle was already in his arm again and Benjamin’s head jerked up. He tried to pull back, to escape, but Will had already crossed his arms in front of the man’s neck, using the short piece of rope that hung between his hands to strangle him. He was going to die, but he was going to take his killer down with him. He would feel that glorious sensation of power one last time before he’d fall victim to it himself.

Benjamin was struggling and Will was forcefully pulled forward when the man threw his head back. The collar lay tight against his throat, cutting off his air supply and pressing into his flesh, but he didn’t let go. He was going to die anyway, and the few minutes leaning back to regain the ability to breathe would buy him didn’t seem worth not finishing what he had started. His left arm, with the needle stuck in it, started to unpleasantly tingle and it felt heavier with every second that passed. Dark shadows started clouding his vision but all he needed to see to keep going were Benjamin’s eyes, lazily shifting around, getting hazier and hazier until they rolled back and stopped moving. The man was limp underneath his hands and Will untangled his arms with the last bit of strength left in him. He leaned back and tried to shake the needle off, but even though his brain was screaming at it, his arm hardly moved. He struggled to keep his eyes open as the lids were getting heavier and the light pierced through his pupils as if he was staring directly into the sun. He fought desperately to stay awake, thinking if he’d just stay in control of his body, if he’d just not allow it to die, he could somehow beat death.

He wasn’t sure if he believed in afterlife, but in this moment, he thought that Beverly might be there, standing on the other side, smiling like she used to. It felt so incredibly comforting. Maybe she was waiting for him. It seemed like he could almost see her, if he’d just close his eyes….

-No-

He had to keep fighting. He wasn’t done yet. His story wasn’t over yet.

When he saw a strong hand tearing the needle from his flesh he thought he was hallucinating. Somewhere from a far, far distance a familiar voice called his name, but the blood he heard soughing in his ears almost swallowed the sound entirely. His head was being tipped up and the light blinded so much he had to shut his eyes, but strangely he didn’t drift away. He didn’t feel like he was at the edge of falling into death anymore, like he didn’t need to struggle anymore. It felt like the forceful waves that had been rushing over him, trying to pull him to his end had stopped and he was slowly floating upwards to reappear above the surface. His thoughts were getting clearer and the hazy feeling faded. When opened his eyes again the restraints on his feet and hands were already gone and the first thing he saw were dark maroon eyes with just the slightest hint of olive and crimson, drenched in both concern and relief. There was a hand pressed to his forehead, cooling his damp skin and another hand around his waist, steadying him, holding him.

When Hannibal saw Will was starting to respond, relief washed over him with a force that would have sent him to his knees if he wouldn’t have already been crouching in front of Will. He withdrew his hand from Will’s forehead and leaned forward to press his lips against the empath’s firmly.

There was such profound desperation in the kiss and Will understood that he actually meant something to Hannibal. That he meant _everything_ to Hannibal. And crouching here, on the same floor he would have almost died seconds ago, he was no longer afraid to admit to himself that Hannibal meant everything to him too. He raised his arms to put them around Hannibal’s neck and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss as well as he could with the collar still tight around his throat. Hannibal pulled back and untied him without once looking away. He was still staring deeply into Will’s eyes, drinking in the beautiful color he had thought he might only ever see behind a clouded cornea again.

“How are you feeling?” he whispered and stroked a hand through Will’s hair frantically.

How was he feeling? Will stared up at the IV bag that had been draining his life from him moments earlier and Hannibal followed his gaze.

“He was sloppy. The needle wasn’t injected correctly. You would be dead by now if it was. I gave you a light dose of naloxone, it counteracts the morphine. You are weak, but you’ll be ok.”

Will wasn’t sure if Hannibal was reassuring him or himself but the relief was overwhelming. He had survived. He didn’t feel weak. He didn’t feel weak at all. He stared at Benjamin’s dead body, felt Hannibal’s arm around his waist and felt _alive._ Will leaned forward to kiss Hannibal again, deeply, hastily and needy. When he broke the kiss he was panting and felt even more overwhelmed than before. There were too many emotions inside him, all too dominant and all fighting to be the strongest. The thrill of having killed someone. The relief of surviving. All the emotions Hannibal triggered in him. It was too much.

“You came for me.” He breathed, once again sounding like a line from a bad movie, but he didn’t care. Hannibal was here. He'd come for him. The man might be a monster but this was proof enough that he was _so much more._ He kissed him again, his hands clutching at Hannibal, his tongue pressing and stroking against his, his heart pumping so intensely he felt like the pounding might break his ribs.  Hannibal gripped his hips and pulled him up without breaking the kiss, then carefully withdrew his hands to test whether Will could stand on his own. Will’s legs hurt from not being moved for too long and he was a little shaky, but he gladly leaned against Hannibal.

“Of course I did.” the doctor whispered against the young man’s lips. Will closed his eyes and allowed the anchoring feeling of safety Hannibal gave him to take over. The feeling of care. Of protection. Of love.

He hadn’t realized his hands had started unbuttoning Hannibal’s shirt until the doctor caught them and broke the kiss with a smile.

“We should get you home.” he said, and somehow Will knew that by “home” he didn’t mean Wolf Trap. Will didn’t want to leave, there were too many sensations rushing through him, too much adrenaline and he felt like he just needed to do something.

“No.” he simply breathed and allowed his hands to continue opening Hannibal’s shirt. The older man gently caught his wrists again.

“Will, you need-“ Will didn’t let him finish, he leaned up and forced his tongue between Hannibal’s lips. He knew what he needed.

When Hannibal finally gave in to the kiss and loosened his grip on Will’s wrists the younger man finished what he had started and the shirt slid off Hannibal’s shoulders to land next to Benjamin’s corpse. The air was filled with the sound of ripping fabric when Hannibal returned the favor and tore Will’s shirt from his body, frowning at his gaunt waist. Will hadn’t eaten anything since the heart Hannibal had fed him.

When Hannibal realized the bruises the collar had left covered some of the bruises _he_ had left his eyes darkened with rage and had the man not been definitely dead he might have given him CPR just to kill him again. He leaned forward and bit at Will’s skin aggressively, reclaiming what was his and trying to suck out the marks someone else had dared to leave on his beautiful boy’s skin. Will squirmed and groaned, not even sure if from pain or pleasure when Hannibal’s teeth broke his skin and his tongue collected the little drops of blood that welled up from the wounds. Will stumbled forward and collapsed onto a little couch in a corner he hadn’t been able to see from the pillar, pulling Hannibal with him. When the weight of the older man pinned him to the couch Will took the opportunity to sink his own teeth into Hannibal’s shoulder and almost squeaked at the small sound the older man gave. Hannibal claimed his lips for another bruising kiss and trailed down his jawline to nibble at his earlobe. When his hands began opening Will’s trousers the young man caught his wrist and pulled it up to his face. He stared at the scars he had to answer for and listened for the part of him that wanted to kill Hannibal.

 It stayed silent.

Will closed his lips over the still sensitive skin and wondered if the scars would be visible forever. He worshipped the thought that he had successfully carved himself into Hannibal’s flesh. Eternally. The doctor winced when Will began to suck at the healing skin carefully and though it stung he didn’t pull away. The young man ran his tongue over the length of the scars almost up to the crook of Hannibal’s arm and planted a trail of soft kisses back down to his wrist.

“What were you thinking-“ he whispered into Hannibal’s palm “-while he did that to you?” Will licked over the scars again and reached for Hannibal’s belt with his free hand.

“That it should have been _your_ hands holding the knife.”

Will’s eyes darkened for a moment and he looked up to meet Hannibal’s eyes.

“I don’t want to kill you anymore.” he said and this time he meant it. Hannibal’s belt clinked as Will opened it and for a moment that was the only sound in the room. The two men just stared at each other, seeing everything that had happened, could have happened and would happen in the other’s eyes and when Hannibal bent down to kiss the younger man again neither of them broke the stare.

With a few quick movements Hannibal had opened Will’s trousers and soon they landed on the floor next to the couch, along with his boxers, socks and shoes. After giving the young man two agonizingly slow strokes he leaned back to drink in the sight of nothing but bare porcelain skin, occasionally broken by lilac bruises and red bite marks. The scar from where Jack had shot him was still very visible on his shoulder. Will stared up at him, his beautiful eyes wild and stormy.

“If you say I’m a masterpiece…” he hissed and arched his back, his cock aching to be touched. Hannibal grinned and freed himself from what was left of his own clothing before he bent down to find Will’s lips again, lying on top of him, skin to skin, scars to scars. When he ground down against Will, the younger man gasped into his mouth and clutched at Hannibal’s arms. In this moment it was useless to think of them as predator and prey or stag and mongoose or chess opponents. All that mattered was that they were there, together, and it made sense. It made sense for them to be together. Hannibal licked over the all-important split in Will’s lip and the cabin was filled with the younger man’s moans when Hannibal took hold of his length and started stroking him again. He pressed his other hand to Will’s lips, who started licking over the skin immediately. Will grazed the fingers with his teeth gently, before releasing them from his mouth. When Hannibal reached down between them and pushed one finger inside Will, the younger man grasped Hannibal’s shoulders and brought him down to a rough open mouthed kiss. A second finger was added and Will bit down on Hannibal’s tongue lightly. When Hannibal expertly stroked Will’s prostate the empath threw his head back against the leather couch, giving the older man the opportunity to once again sink his teeth into the sensitive flesh of his neck. Hannibal tasted Will’s pure, mesmerizing flavor on his lips as warm blood trickled over them and down to Will’s collarbone. The young man was panting heavily and Hannibal could feel his chest rising and falling and his heart pounding rapidly underneath him. He let his lips and tongue travel over Will’s throat, down to his collarbone; smearing the blood that was slowly forming a small puddle there, and briefly closed his lips over his nipple until he stopped at the point where Will’s heart was beating and let his lips linger there, a racing rate against his mouth, as he withdrew his fingers. He placed both hands on his inner thighs to spread his legs and slowly pushed into Will. If medically he didn’t know better, he would’ve said Will’s heart shortly stopped. He gave the younger man some time to adjust, his lips still pressed against his pounding heart, only separated by skin and flesh, before he started moving in a slow pace. One could say he was being careful, even tender, if one ignored the blood smeared over Will’s neck and chest. The younger man pushed his hips up and wrapped his legs around Hannibal’s waist as he quickened his pace. When he hit Will’s prostate for the second time, the profiler was certain he was unconscious for a second before he let out a stifled moan and wrapped his hands around Hannibal’s neck.

_With my hands._

He felt his Adam’s apple against his palm, he saw those fiery crimson eyes staring down at him, but he didn’t feel the desire to squeeze. Not anymore. The thrusts became deeper, more forceful and hit their target regularly. Hannibal’s eyes seemed to burn brighter with every moan he tore from the younger man’s lips. When a low moan escaped the doctor’s own throat, Will dropped his hands from Hannibal’s neck to find his wrists instead. He pressed his lips to the scars and cried out against the pinkish skin as another thrust hit his prostate and he came hard, spilling warmth on both their abdomens and chests. Will didn’t know if it was his cry, his orgasm, the light suction against the scars or the three of them combined, but in that moment Hannibal came too, deep inside Will; filling him, claiming him, burying himself underneath his flesh to take a position in his body he had had in his mind for a far longer time. Will clutched at Hannibal’s forearms, trembling and completely lost in his high. He felt a light kiss on his forehead and realized his eyes were closed. He didn’t open them when he tilted his head so that the lips pressing to his skin found his own instead. They shared a lazy, open mouthed kiss, more breathing each other in than actually kissing, and Will opened his eyes again. He broke the kiss with a gentle peck at Hannibal’s lips. Without saying a word, Hannibal repositioned them so he was lying behind Will, his arm curled around his waist, holding him tightly. He nuzzled at the damp curls and Will gave a small, satisfied sigh. He reached down and covered Hannibal’s hand that was slowly stroking over his lower stomach, with his own. Hannibal turned his palm up and laced their fingers together.

“How long have I been here?” Will asked; cutting through the silence filled, warm air with whispered words.

“Almost two days.”

Will turned in Hannibal’s arms to face him and nudged his nose against the other’s.

“I missed the dinner party.” he murmured and licked along Hannibal’s jawline. The older smiled and threaded his fingers in Will’s hair.

“Regrettable, but we’ll hold another one.” he replied and glanced over at Benjamin’s dead body. Will didn’t need to look up to know what Hannibal was looking at.

“My turn to provide the meat.” he whispered and smiled.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that my friends, is the end of this fiction. Thank you so much for sticking with me. <3  
> I'm aware that there are some loose ends and many future possibilities, so I've been thinking about turning this into a series....?


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